


I want you to want me

by sirona



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Fights, Get Together, M/M, Minor Character Death, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-21
Updated: 2011-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-22 21:52:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 45,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirona/pseuds/sirona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all his damned knee's fault. If it wasn't for his body's betrayal, no one would have found out about the fight club, or about his dad practically leaving them to fend for themselves after their mother's death. And they <i>certainly</i> wouldn't have sent the four of them kids to Hawai'i, to live with their aunt and uncle. Although, Danny has to admit that the class president offers a not-so-small consolation... A.k.a. Danny gets sent to Hawai'i to finish high school, and meets the gang, and kind of falls in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [h50_bigbang](http://h50-bigbang.livejournal.com/). At its heart this is a High School AU where the boys meet pretty much 16 years before the events of the series, and follows their relationship up to 1.08 -- although due to the nature of the story, it is AU throughout as it allows for the fact that the two of them know each other. It follows canon as much as possible, although I admit to fibbing Mrs McGarrett's time and date of death to suit the story. This story would honestly not exist if it wasn't for [zolac_no_miko](http://zolac-no-miko.livejournal.com/). She talked me off ledges, researched and explained all things Hawai'i like a superhero for me, and practically glued this story together with her enthusiasm and support, for which I am pathetically grateful. I could not have done it without her, and that's the truth. Thanks, babe. ♥ All remaining mistakes are my own. Art by [Sparklycockles](http://sparklycockles.livejournal.com/) [here](http://sparklycockles.livejournal.com/77137.html). There is a soundtrack to this story [here](http://sirona-gs.livejournal.com/66659.html).

**Part One**

Danny is drowning.

He is drowning, but there’s no one to see it, no one to help. His mother is _gone_ , his father as good as, locked inside his own head, lost to his grief. His brother is almost fourteen years old, and his sisters are ten and six, and Danny is fifteen and sinking fast.

But there’s no one else who can do this job, raise them, make sure they are safe and clothed and fed, no one else to notice that Kate has stopped speaking, and that Amy came home yesterday with a bruise covering her entire upper arm, all the way up to her collarbone.

His brother... that’s another story. Danny has seen his fair share of fights, God knows, but taunting someone until he breaks his hand in your face, well.

Danny doesn’t know how to fix this. He goes to school, writes his homework on the bus on his way back, then gets home and hangs up the washing he put in before he left that morning, fixes lunch, helps Kate wash her face, helps Amy with her geography homework, tries not to snap at Matty, doesn’t bother to wait for his father to come home before putting them all to bed.

His father barely says ‘hello’ when he walks through the door; his eyes slide away from Danny as soon as they land on him, hollow and broken. Danny knows it’s his fault -- he looks so much like their mother that his father can barely stand to look at him, hasn’t touched him in months, ever since the call came.

Danny leaves the house through the back door. It’s just gone 10pm, but the street they live on is already dark and empty, cars parked safely in the driveways, not a soul to be seen but the old lady from down the block walking her ancient Pekingese. Danny doesn’t linger, walks quickly and purposefully down the road to the other side of the neighbourhood, where it mutates into abandoned warehouses and barbwire-covered fences. He slips in between the rusted gate and the brick wall, where there’s a space left for a body a little bigger than his. He knows he’s short for his age, but lately his shoulders have started feeling strange, too wide for his frame, and he’s noticed that ever since he started doing this he’s been putting on muscle all over.

He jogs the last few yards around the corner. The mutters of the small crowd are barely audible until you’re practically on top of it. There’s seven of them, all older boys, all of them taller and broader than him. They greet him with a mistrustful glare, but he’s been earning his way into the group for the past month, his fists making space for him better than his brains ever could.

He can feel his mind clearing as soon as he loses his shirt and puts up his arms, drops into a defensive crouch; school, his father, his siblings, his mother, everything goes away until it’s just him and his opponent, the chill of the night, the smell of city smoke and drifting fog. The boy he’s fighting is thin but wiry, corded muscles weaving over his arms and thighs. Danny takes the first hit square in the ribs, grunts with the pain but manages to roll, not to present an easy target. By unspoken agreement the fights are kept below the neck; he’s not the only middle-class kid with issues, even if his father is unlikely to even notice, let alone put up a fuss. Danny waits for the opening, slides under the boy’s guard like it isn’t even there, lands a wicked punch in his stomach. The boy drops and heaves for a moment before catching his breath and pushing back to his feet.

Danny looks into the boy’s dead eyes while he waits for the faint; it’s something the whole group has in common. The look in them is vaguely familiar. It will take Danny a long time to realise that this is because he sees it every morning in the bathroom mirror.

\---

It’s two months after Danny’s sixteenth birthday that the little arrangement that’s worked so well for him for the past year falls apart. Ironically, it’s the one other thing that makes his life bearable that is responsible for it.

Coach Keats is not a particularly tall man himself, but what he lacks in height he makes up in presence. Danny looks up to the man in a way that is frankly frightening, because people you care about have a habit of leaving you behind. Danny’s late for practice for the second time that week, because Amy had broken her leg two weeks ago and needs a lot more help than usual getting home from school. Danny still hasn’t factored in the extra hour and a half it takes up.

Coach Keats is not an angry man by nature. His entire team knows that his bark is way worse than his bite, that the more he yells the better he’s feeling about something. It’s the moments he goes quiet you have to watch out for, because to his players, Coach Keats’ disappointment is heavier than any punishment the man can mete out.

Danny wipes out in practice. He’s tired, exhausted, really; he’s been running on empty for far longer than he could have imagined he would last. His knee is giving him trouble again -- one of his fight partners had landed a nasty hit on it the other night, and it shakes sometimes, when he puts too much pressure on it. It gives out completely today, just as Danny’s speeding up to the home plate, and he crashes in the dust half-way there.

Coach Keats is by his side in moments, face grim, mouth pressed in that tight line that bodes nothing good for whoever caused it. Danny looks him straight in the eye, fights not to let his eyes slide away like he’s guilty, because he’s _not_ , it’s not his fault his life has turned to something better resembling a circle of hell. Coach crouches down, presses gentle hands to Danny’s knee, and when did it swell so much, it wasn’t like that this morning when--oh, but Amy had whacked it with her crutches accidentally, when he was helping her off the school bus -- that’d do it. He hisses in pain when Coach presses down on something. The tight pinch of Coach's mouth gets worse.

“I’m taking you to the nurse’s office, boyo,” he says, in that tone of his that brooks no refusal.

Danny tries anyway.

“I’m fine, Coach, honest. I just got bumped today, I guess my sister hit me harder than I thought. It was an accident,” he hurries to add when Coach frowns at him. “She broke her leg. She needed my help.”

Something changes in Coach’s eyes, and Danny suddenly has to fight back tears that come out of nowhere. It’s just that no one has looked at him this way for longer than he can remember. He blinks them away furiously.

“You’re still going to get seen by the nurse. I’m not having my star player injure himself on my watch,” Coach says, and helps him stand. “You lot, off you go for today. See you on Friday, don’t be late!” he yells to the rest of the team who scamper to the showers as quick as they can.

He braces Danny’s side against his hip and tugs Danny’s hand over his shoulder for balance. Danny holds on tightly as Coach helps him limp to the nurse’s office on the other side of the school; it takes them well over twenty minutes, and that’s when Danny realises this could be bad. He has bruises on his ribs that still haven’t healed from three nights ago, and even if no one’s cared for a long time, Danny knows that it’ll get him in trouble faster than he can get out of it.

He looks at Coach surreptitiously from under his eyelashes, but Coach has his face set in a way that gives fair warning that he won’t budge. Danny tries frantically to think of an excuse for not taking his shirt off -- it’s too cold, he doesn’t want to get sick, he has a cold already. He knows even as he discards one after the other that no excuses will fly with Nurse Frieda. She is a Nazi when it comes to students’ health.

He braces himself for the inevitable lie while they wait for her to finish with Elizabeth from the year below him. It’s late September in Jersey, but the weather is bitterly cold, not far off freezing, so flu abounds within the school, and it's keeping Nurse Frieda busier than most of full-on winter, when all students with an ounce of brains in their heads know to dress up warm. Coach Keats is silent next to him, and Danny bites his tongue not to babble, like he does when he’s nervous. He pushes his hands under his thighs to keep from fidgeting, something else he’s prone to -- his mother used to joke that he had Jersey in his genes.

The door opens and Elizabeth walks out, sniffling into a tissue. Her eyes are watery and her nose is bright red, but she finds a smile for Danny. He barely manages to return it; his blood is thumping in his ears with barely restrained panic.

Nurse Frieda pokes her bushy red hair through the door.

“Larry! What have you got for me today, then?” she asks, resigned.

Coach Keats’ smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I need you to take a look at Williams’ knee, Frieda. It folded under him a half hour ago.” He helps Danny stand and limp into the office.

“Right. Williams, yes? Sit yourself down, take off your shirt and pants, let’s take a look at you.” She waves at an exam table, snaps on a fresh pair of gloves.

‘Here it is,’ Danny thinks to himself.

“I’d rather not take off my shirt, if that’s okay. It’s freezing in here,” he says, pours as much nonchalance into it as he can dig up.

Frieda’s not buying it, he can see. “Shirt. Off,” she says, hands on hips.

“Seriously? You’re going to make me strip in the middle of flu season? I got a brother and two sisters, if I get sick they get sick, okay? Can you just take a look at my knee? It’s perfectly fine, anyway, but Coach insisted.”

The more he fights it, the more determined Frieda gets. In the end, Danny just grits his teeth and whips his shirt off, throws it in a corner in frustration.

The two shocked inhales signal the end of life as he knows it, even if it’ll take a few days for the full repercussions to sink in.

“What the hell happened to you, Williams?” Coach growls, squinting at the mass of bruises and scars, some faded and some half-healed, that criss-cross his torso.

“It’s fine,” Danny insists, knowing it’s a lost cause but unable to give in without a fight. “Got into a bit of a tussle. It’ll heal.”

“Looks to me like you’ve been getting in tussles for quite a while there, young man,” Frieda says, lips pursed as she pokes and prods at him. Danny grits his teeth against the hiss of pain trying to escape. The less he looks like it hurts, the better.

The look in Coach Keats promises nothing good; Danny’s not going to delude himself that this will end any definition of well.

\---

He sits outside the Principal’s office, knee freeze-sprayed and wrapped in an elastic bandage, with strict orders to keep his weight off it for at least a few days. Danny doesn’t have that luxury; there’s far too much to do at home to afford him any kind of break. He can hear voices from behind the door; Coach Keats and Nurse Frieda have been inside for the better part of half an hour, and his father is due at any minute. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but Coach sounds distressed -- he’s far too quiet. Danny bites his lip and closes his eyes, hoping it’ll all go away if he just ignores it for a while.

Footsteps click down the corridor, rushing closer and closer. His father rounds the corner, eyes a little wild around the edges, hair an absolute mess like he's been raking it. His hands are curled into white-knuckled fists, and he’s biting viciously at his lip just like Danny has been doing for the past few minutes -- only there’s a drop of blood coating his chin, and Danny realises in a dizzying rush that his father is so worried he’s near frantic with it. It’s such a shock that all Danny can do is stare at him, like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Oh god, Danny, you okay?” his father says, running forward and dropping to his knees in front of him. His hands twitch like he wants to touch him, but doesn’t know whether he should, or where to put his hands. In the end, he curls them back into fists and drops them in his lap, clutching at his own fingers. His panicked eyes flit over Danny’s body, trying to divine what’s happened.

Danny has to try twice to find his voice. “I’m okay, Dad. It’s just a bruise, I walked into Amy’s crutch earlier and apparently there’s a bit of swelling, but it’ll go down in a few days.”

His father sags backwards until he’s sitting on his heels, relief written all over his face, so plainly that Danny can’t possibly miss it. “Oh thank god,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut.

Danny swallows, bracing himself. “The Principal wants to see you, though.” He leans a hand on the bench he’s sitting on and levers himself upright; his father jumps to his feet and grabs his shoulder, steadying him. He tentatively slides a hand under Danny’s arm, supporting him so they can walk slowly to the closed door. His father raps a knuckle on it a couple of times.

“Come in,” someone calls from inside.

His father pushes the door open and helps Danny inside, lowering him into the chair in front of the desk that Coach Keats has just vacated. Principal Hodgson waves a hand for his father to take the other chair.

“Mr Williams, do you know why I’ve asked you to come here today?” Mr Hodgson asks; there’s a stern note in his otherwise gentle voice that makes Danny frown.

His father looks confused. “I thought it was so I could take Danny home?”

The three teachers share a look.

“Mr Williams, my name is Frieda Zamijeva, I am the school nurse. When Coach Keats brought your son in to be examined, I noticed Danny had extensive bruising all over his body, mostly located over his torso. There is also some scarring, both old and new. Danny insists there is nothing wrong, that he ‘got in a tussle’, but the bruising is consistent with a heavy beating, and the scarring suggests lacerations from a blunt, jagged object.” She falls silent, and Mr Hodgson takes over seamlessly.

“We are... concerned about your son’s safety and well-being. Can you think of any reason why Danny would be getting beaten, or is consistently getting into fights? He has never been in trouble at school; he is a popular kid, a good student, well liked by the vast majority of his schoolmates, and he has never given any indication that he’s been bullied, or picked on.” Mr Hodgson pauses, looks sympathetic. “We’re... familiar with Mrs Williams passing last year, and once again I am very sorry for your loss. But we would be remiss in our duty to our students and their parents if we do not flag potential behavioural problems as soon as we become aware of them.”

Danny can barely look at any of them, but to actually look at his _father_ right now would take a stronger man than he. His father remains silent for a short while, and when he speaks, his voice almost breaks. “I... was not aware that Danny was behaving differently. It’s been... a tough year for all of us, and... the kids, they’ve all taken it hard, as you can imagine.” He stops to clear his throat; Danny can hear his laboured breathing at his side, and he knows that his father is fighting to hold his composure. “I... I have not been home as much as I would have liked, I... my work...”

He turns to Danny, and Danny wants to die when he chances a peek at his face and sees the devastation this has wrought on his father. He looks haggard, barely keeping himself together. “Danny? What... is there someone...” he pauses to swallow heavily. “Son, is there someone hurting you that you haven’t told me about?”

Danny looks at his knees, traces the bandage with his eyes as he fidgets with his hands. The knuckles on his left are still bruised, and there’s a small nick over the one in the middle. He can take pretty much anything anyone throws at him, but his father’s concern makes him so _angry_ , and so small at the same time.

He grits his teeth against screaming, against hurling insults and saying things he will regret as soon as they’re out -- ‘Since when do _you_ care’, and ‘I could be dying and you still wouldn’t _look_ at me’, and ‘You haven’t bothered with me in a long time, why start now’, hurtful, vicious things that are bursting from his chest all the same.

“No, Dad,” he forces out in the end. “No one’s been hurting me.”

“Danny--” his father starts, and Danny snaps.

“So I got into a few fights, so what? It’s not like you care, you haven’t been home in three days, you didn’t even know about Amy’s leg until last night. I know you’re been out there saving lives, Dad, but it would be kinda nice if your kids saw your face once in a while, too.” He bites his lip again; he can taste the tang of iron in his mouth, feels the small sting as his teeth tear through the skin.

He can’t look at his father.

And then he does, and he wishes he never picked up the courage in the first place, because his father looks _destroyed_ , ashen-faced and close to tears.

The room is so silent that when Danny shifts in his chair, the rustling sound carries to the farthest corners. The silence stretches until Danny can’t stand it, has to fill it with _something_.

“Look, it’s fine,” he says defiantly; he wants to say he’s sorry, but he’s _not_ , and he’s sick of lying. “I know this has been an awful year for you, too, but the girls and Matty, they miss you, and I just think you should spend more time with them. This hasn’t been easy for them, either. They’re okay, I take care of them, I always will, but they need you too, Dad.”

Danny’s been trying to reassure him, so he doesn’t understand why, just for a second, his father’s face crumples completely before he manages to catch hold of himself. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out but a choked ‘Danny’. His hand makes an aborted movement towards Danny, but stops half-way there, as if he doesn’t know if he’s allowed. It clenches into a fist when he pulls it back, and there’s a fine tremor running along his whole body.

Mr Hodgson clears his throat uncomfortably. “I think, perhaps, this ought to be discussed between the two of you. Danny’s not in trouble with the school; in fact, I’d say he’s been coping with things much better than most, under the circumstances. This is a family matter. Thank you for coming in, Mr Williams.” He stands up and holds out a hand. His father stares at it for a moment before getting to his feet and taking it.

“Williams, you rest that knee of yours. I don’t want to see you at practice for the rest of the week,” Coach Keats says. Danny nods faintly and follows his father out of the door, putting as little weight on his knee as he can.

He limps to the car, parked haphazardly across two parking spaces, like his father was in such a rush he didn’t care where he left it. They drive off in a silence that lasts for the rest of the drive home.

\---

Three days later, Danny’s life changes forever.

There’s a knock on the door while he’s cutting up Kate’s dinner into small bites for her. The three look at him questioningly, as always trusting him implicitly to take care of it. He drops the knife and fork and pushes his chair back. His father isn’t home yet, although he’s been making a real effort to be there for dinner ever since the day he brought Danny home from school.

Danny walks to the door; he hears a car drive off just as he reaches for the door knob, wonders whether he should bother at all, turns it anyway.

The lady on the other side of it looks so astonishingly like his mother that he takes an unconscious step back, almost stumbles over the rug in shock. There’s an awful ache somewhere in his chest that makes it impossible to breathe. He tries anyway, always pushing back no matter the cost. The lady smiles tentatively at him.

“Hello, you must be Daniel. I’m Clara Jameson.” She pauses, and there’s this look in her eyes, such sadness that it feels like a punch in the gut. “Your mother was my sister. I’m your aunt.”

Danny stares at her some more. “How come I’ve never seen you before?” he blurts out, completely blindsided.

Clara’s mouth tightens, but she’s not angry at him. Danny doesn’t know how he knows that, only that his mother had looked the same when she thought she had done something wrong.

“I live in Hawai’i. It’s a really long trip to take in either direction, and your mother and I, we were always so busy.”

“She never mentioned you,” Danny says, but it’s hard to hold on to his suspicions in the face of the obvious family resemblance.

Clara’s mouth tightens some more. She looks upset. Danny wishes he never said anything.

“May I perhaps come in?” she asks, really asks, like she doesn’t know which way this is going to go. Danny hesitates, but he steps aside. She is family, after all.

She bends to pick up a large travel bag, which is the first time Danny notices it. Something about it makes his stomach tighten in apprehension. He doesn’t offer to help her with it, and she doesn’t look like she expects him to.

When Danny shows her into the kitchen, silence descends like a thick blanket over the room. Then, to Danny’s distress, Kate starts crying. She’s utterly silent, like she doesn’t expect the fact that she’s crying to change anything. Tears run down her pale cheeks and drip down her chin, and Danny’s heart breaks with every little tap they make as they fall onto the table. He circles the table as fast as his legs will carry him and drops to his knees, ignores the nasty twinge from the sore one. He tugs Kate into his arms, murmuring something soothing into her hair. She hides her face in his neck and clutches at his T-shirt as he looks helplessly at Clara over Kate’s head. He sees she’s crying, too.

Matty presses his lips together and pushes away from the table, brushes past Clara when he storms out of the room. Amy’s gazing at Clara like she’s the answer to everything and nothing all at once.

In a little while Kate calms, but she’s still clutching at Danny’s T-shirt, so he scoots a chair over to her side and lowers himself carefully onto it, stretching his knee out with a smothered groan. Clara’s still standing by the door, looking unsure, so Danny picks up his manners from the gutter and offers her a chair. She takes it hesitantly, looking between the three of them.

It falls to Danny to make the introductions. Matty wanders in just as he opens his mouth; his eyes are red, but he sits down at the table without a word.

Danny takes a deep breath. “This is Clara Jameson. She is our aunt. Mom was her sister. Clara, these are Kathleen, Amelia, and Matthew.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you all,” Clara says soothingly, but Danny notices how tightly her fingers are wound together on top of the table. He doesn’t know what else to say -- he has no idea what she’s doing here, or why she’s come now.

“Is George not home yet?” she asks, and Danny realises she’s just as nervous as them. It makes him feel that little bit calmer.

“We’re expecting him any moment,” Danny replies just as their father’s keys jangle and the front door clicks open. There’s a slight pause when it’s closed again; Danny supposes his father just saw the bag that Clara left by the stairs. Then his footsteps draw closer, and a moment later he stands at the doorway, looking at the silent tableau before focusing on the newcomer.

“Clara. It’s good to see you again,” he says gruffly, but he sounds genuine, even when his eyes fly over her shape for a second with something like wistfulness.

“George. Thank you for inviting me,” Clara says. She starts to get up, then changes her mind and settles back in her seat.

Their father nods at her, then crosses to the other empty seat and takes it carefully. There’s more of the awkward silence while the six of them stare at each other.

Then their father takes a deep breath and turns to look at the four of them resolutely. “I have asked Clara to come here because I’ve come to the realisation that I have not been the best father I could have been. And it has hurt you in ways I can’t even imagine. I can’t take care of you like I should, like you need me to. I thought if I just. But it hasn’t worked, and all of this, I can’t bear to think how much I have failed you all.

“Your aunt Clara has offered to look after you until I can get back on my feet, if you. If you still want to come back, by then." He huffs a small sound that's probably meant to be a laugh; it sounds more like a sob. He presses his lips together for a moment before continuing. "She is the Principal of Kukui High School, in Hawai’i. You’ll be able to finish the school year there, and we’ll see how things go. I hope you’ll be able to come back in July or August, and things will get back to normal. Or, as normal as it is around here, anyway. It’ll only be for nine months,” he says pleadingly when he sees their flat faces. “I just. You need more than I can give you right now. I love you all, so much it hurts. I want to be a good father to you, and I can’t be that right now. But I will be. I swear to you. Meanwhile you can work on your suntan, eh? Take the chance to see the ocean, have some fun for a change. You’ll be back before you know it!”

He’s trying to put a happy face on it, but Danny can see it’s killing him, having to send them away, feeling like a failure but trying to do right by them no matter what it costs him. As much as he loathes the idea, he can appreciate what their father is trying to do for them. Plus, it’ll be good for Kate and Amy to have a change of pace. They have been much too serious lately, much too quiet. It’s not good for little girls to be so quiet. They should be going to football practice, playing with bunny rabbits, gossiping with friends, conspiring to turn the entire house pink. Danny’s not all that old, but even he knows that much. And Matty, he needs some real friends, people to have sleepovers and go to baseball practice with. Not those kids he’s fallen in with recently. Danny’s been meaning to talk to him about them; he’s sure drugs are involved, and for all that he’s no one’s role model, he draws the line at that.

So he smiles back tentatively at their father, doing his bit for the rest of them regardless of how he feels about it.

“Yeah, Dad. That sounds like a good idea. Right, guys? We’re going to have so much fun!”

Kate and Amy perk up a little, but Matty stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “Are you nuts?” his brother demands. “I’m not going to no Hawai’i!”

“Why not?” Danny returns. _Don’t show fear._ “We get to see the ocean, go to the beach every day if we feel like it. Amy and Kate will love it,” he adds, allowing a hint of warning to colour his voice. _Don’t spoil it for the two of them, please._

“I don’t care!” Matty yells, startling Clara. She stares at him, obviously thinking of how to handle this. “I don’t want to go!”

“Okay. Will you tell me why you don’t want to go?” Clara asks gently. It’s a mistake, Danny knows straight away.

Matty stares her down as only a fifteen-year-old can, when they think they know everything and all you know is wrong. “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he says, cold and cutting.

“Matty, come on. It’s a good idea. Why are you being so difficult? It’s hard enough as it is. We’ll all go, it’ll only be for nine months, you heard Dad.”

Matty sneers; a fifteen-year-old should not be able to infuse so much bitterness in his expression. Danny feels like a failure. “Yeah, like Dad’s someone we can trust,” Matty snarls. Their father’s face turns ashen.

“Matthew Williams! You apologise, right now!”

“Shut up, _Daniel_ , you’re not my father!”

Matty sounds close to tears, and there’s a horribly lost look on his face, like he’s furious and he doesn’t know how to fix it. Danny doesn’t know either, but he has to try something, anything. He can’t stand that look on Matty’s face. Before he can say anything, though, Matty pushes out of his chair and runs out of the room, face crumpling in distress. Their dad makes to get up, too, but Danny lifts a hand to stop him.

“No, Dad. Just give him a little time. It’s kind of a shock.”

“I’m sorry,” his father says miserably, looking defeated.

“Hey, it’ll be okay, Dad. You’ll see.”

They don’t stay in the kitchen for much longer. Amy and Kate go upstairs to their room, and their dad shows Clara to the spare bedroom in the attic. Danny goes up to Matty’s room, but the door remains stubbornly locked, no matter how hard he pounds on it. He resolves to try again tomorrow. They all need some time to absorb the news.

‘Hawai’i,’ Danny thinks to himself numbly as he stretches over the top of the coverlet on his bed. That’s on the other side of the country; no wonder his mother and his aunt hadn’t visited each other. Although... no matter how far away you are, you should always make an effort for someone you love. Maybe he could make up for lost time, now that he’ll be moving in with his aunt for the foreseeable future.

 _Hawai’i._ Just the name sounds exotic to Danny, who’s never left New Jersey in his life. He wonders what it’ll be like for the weather to be warm all the time, whether everyone walks around in bikinis and wears those flowery wreaths, leis, he thinks they’re called. He wonders whether he’ll enjoy living there. No question that it’ll be good for them to get away for a little while. Hell, might even do _him_ some good.

Two hours later, the itch starts right between his shoulderblades, like he knew it would. It’s been the same the past three days. Ever since his father found out about the fighting, Danny’s been making an effort, too -- not to go back to that stretch of concrete that has been more of a home for him than his house for the past year. It’s so much harder than he imagined it would ever be. His skin feels suffocated underneath his T-shirt; there’s no adrenaline to pull him up and out of the everyday grind; there’s no sense of satisfaction when he lands a good hit, or when his opponent bruises his ribs and gets the endorphins flowing. Danny has no earthly idea what he’s going to do when he gets to the promised land of Hawai’i -- there will be no sneaking out after dark, that’s for sure. He might not know Clara very well -- or at all, really -- but he can already tell that she won’t let that pass, not like his father has been doing when he didn’t know about it. And she’s the Principal at his fancy new school -- she’s bound to find out, no matter how sneaky he is about it.

Danny longs for the smell of wet asphalt, for the sting of sweat in his eyes, for the quiet cheers of the other boys in the small circle. Almost all of the faces have changed -- some have moved on, some have found other people to fight, some are already dead, victims to the latest gang screw-up. Danny and Kyle are the only two left from the original group of eight, veterans of a thousand fights, both trapped in one way or another. Danny wonders what Kyle thought when Danny stopped showing, whether he thought Danny had gotten in trouble, or moved, or found better ways to escape at the end of a needle. Danny hopes he’ll be all right -- there’s an intimate feel of camaraderie in beating the crap out of each other and loving it.

Although there is one good thing about this whole scenario, Danny supposes -- at least it’ll drive _those_ thoughts out of his head, the ones he’s started having lately every time he sees Kyle. Of what his lips would taste like if he were to lick the blood off them; of what Kyle would feel like, struggling underneath Danny when he pins him to the ground; of how easy it would be to reach out and flick that ginger fringe out of his eyes when Kyle forgets to tie his shoulder-length hair back. Last time they’d fought, Danny had charged him, and Kyle hadn’t been able to get out of the way fast enough. Their bare, sweaty chests had slid together strangely, and Danny had felt a curious tightening in his belly. It wasn’t until he got home and stripped his filthy clothes off that he’d realised that he was hard as a rock.

It was all so different, so confusing, that Danny had trouble sorting out his reactions to it. Was he scared, exhilarated, uncomfortable, turned on? Was it a combination of all four?

Anyway, Danny hadn’t been back there this week, and even when he’d told himself it was only until his knee healed, he knows that chances are he’ll never go back, never find out where this thing with Kyle might have taken him, because right now there's something more important than that. Danny’s not big on labels; he’s heard a couple of his classmates being taunted, words like ‘gay’, ‘faggot’, ‘queer’ getting thrown around like they’re rocks. He’s seen the damage they can do, and he’s not keen to paint himself in a corner. It’ll happen when it happens, and if it isn’t Kyle it’ll be someone else. Danny’s got enough issues in his life to invent new ones.

It’s the look on his father’s face when he found out that haunts him, there every time Danny closes his eyes. The despair, the self-hatred, the helplessness. For all his failures, Danny loves his dad. He’s kind, understanding, headstrong; his drive to help people has saved countless lives. He’s already a legend at the Fire Department, and Danny admires him fiercely.

The only mistake Danny’s father had made was fall in love with Danny’s mother, so deeply and overwhelmingly that her death had destroyed him. It’s not like Danny hadn’t seen it, hadn’t tried to help in any way he’d known, by taking over his mom’s job, taking care of his brother and sisters. It hadn’t been completely selfless -- he’d stumbled into it by accident at first, but it had been like a lifeline to him. When he kept busy, he stopped thinking, reliving that phone call over and over and over and over again in his head -- picking up the phone, not realising that when he’d been asked if he was a Mr Williams, they’d meant his dad; that no, it really _wouldn't_ be funny to pass himself off as him just because his voice had broken two weeks ago; and then the rest of it. Pile-up on the motorway. Wife at the University Hospital. Fading fast, only hours left. Get here as soon as you can, sir, bring your kids. They’ll want to say goodbye.

He doesn’t know what happened next; there’s a blank spot in his memory of the rest of the day, a vague memory of tubes and the smell of antiseptic, kissing a bandaged cheek, holding on to a cold hand. Then nothing, until he woke up in his bed, alone in the house -- or so he’d thought, until he’d gone up to his parents’ bedroom and found Amy, Kate, and Matthew curled up in his mother’s closet, a big pile of limbs and tear-streaked faces.

So, he'd kept as busy as he could handle, home, brother, sisters, school, homework, exercise, exercise, exercise -- and then he’d found the warehouse lot when he’d been out running one night, and heard the voices, and joined in. That night the nightmares had finally stopped.

Until three days ago, when his knee had betrayed him utterly and completely, and put an end to his escape route. That first night had been almost unbearable; he'd woken up four times, an hour apart, and given up on sleep altogether after the fifth time he'd come to covered in cold sweat and shaking uncontrollably. Last night had been somewhat better, since Danny hadn’t sat down all day -- the house could not get any cleaner unless he used industrial-strength bleach -- and he’d only woken up once. He hopes that tonight would be better still.

\---

Apparently meeting his estranged aunt that looks just like his dead mother is not all that conducive to a good night’s sleep. Go figure. And he’s going to have to live with the woman for the next nine months.

Oh god. He’s _doomed_.

But -- here’s the thing. There are three reasons he can never say that out loud, never give any indication that he has doubts regarding the retention of his sanity, and their names are Amy, Kate, and Matty. He can do it, for them -- he can get through this thing. He just hopes the blue skies, warm weather, and endless beaches make it up to him, at least a little.

~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

Danny hates Hawai'i on sight. It's too bright, too open, too cheerful for him, when he still feels like his heart is shrivelled in his chest with sorrow. It's too intense, and his brother is still not speaking to him, and Amy and Kate are clutching at his hands on either side of him like they're much younger kids, and the airport corridors smell of stale air and resignation, like all airports do. It's already too warm -- he'd put his coat back on when he'd climbed out of the plane by habit, and he's roasting in it, but his sisters hold on to him so tightly that it's unthinkable to let go in order to take it off.

The lady on the bag inspection desk checks their carry-ons like it's just a formality; she gives Danny a warm smile and compliments Kate's long blonde hair, a remnant from their mother. It's grown again -- there was a stage where she'd chopped off almost all of it with the kitchen scissors. Danny had not needed to have been an expert in psychological trauma to know that this had _not_ been a good sign. But now it flows over her shoulders in a shiny curtain once more, and even if she complains about how heavy it is all the time, Danny knows she wouldn't even let _him_ trim it a little for her.

He deposits the three of them -- two apprehensive girls and one sullen teenager -- at the luggage carousel and goes in search of a baggage trolley -- they have so many suitcases that their dad had had to stuff a couple in the back seat under Kate's feet. Danny pushes away thoughts of his father -- he can't afford to break down in the middle of Honolulu airport, in front of all these people and with their aunt waiting outside the gate with her husband.

"Here's mine," Amy says quietly by Danny's ear when her bright yellow suitcase rolls out. "And Kate's--" she indicates the pale pink one that comes out behind it. Danny puts his back into it, and manages to haul both cases off the carousel and onto the trolley with minimum fuss.

His own backpack comes out a couple bags behind, quite a bit lighter than the girls' luggage. Matty's is right behind him, huge and bulky with god knows what. Matty hasn't spoken a single word to Danny since that night two weeks ago, which is a feat considering all the details that have had to be checked over and confirmed.

Danny pushes the trolley along behind his siblings on their way out of the Arrivals gate, past where groups of waiting friends and relatives mill about in anticipation of loved ones. Their Aunt Clara waves at them eagerly to their left, a tall, handsome man in his forties at her shoulder. There's a gentle welcoming smile on his face.

"Hello, kids!" Clara says when they near. She starts forward as if to embrace the girls, but they hang back on either side of Danny again, still mistrustful of the relative stranger.

Danny sees Clara's eyes tighten a little, like she's hurt but she's trying to hide it. He feels bad, but it's still too early for all of them -- they have only known her just over two weeks, and there's so much history between the families that they don't know anything about. His sisters have always been way too watchful for their age.

Still, she tries to pass it off like she doesn't even notice. "This is my husband Jimmy. Jimmy, meet your nieces and nephews!"

"Hi, everybody!" Jimmy says. He has a soft, lilting accent, something Danny will come to associate with the residents of this island soon enough. He turns to Matty first, since he's at the front of the group by virtue of standing where he was before Kate and Amy shuffled backwards. "You must be Matthew."

"Hello," Matty mutters, but he shakes Jimmy's hand when Jimmy thrusts it forward.

"Kate, Amy," Danny murmurs, and the girls relent, stepping forward to meet the man. His huge palm engulfs their small ones completely, but he holds them with such care that something inside Danny relaxes before he'd even known it had tightened.

"Lovely to meet you, ladies," Jimmy rumbles and the girls smile at him. When he turns to Danny, Danny sees a strange look pass through his eyes -- it looks an awful lot like respect, but Danny's sure he's mistaken.

"Hello, Danny. It's great to finally meet you," Jimmy says, shaking Danny's hand with just as much care as he'd shown the others.

"You too, sir," Danny says -- manners cost nothing, and their mother had been determined they all had them.

"Welcome to Hawai'i," Jimmy tells all of them, beaming. "We're going to have so much fun the next few months!"

Danny privately doubts it, but keeps his thoughts to himself.

\---

They ride to the Jamesons' house in a huge Jeep that Jimmy says he borrowed from work -- "I'm a detective at HPD, I requested this from down at the precinct." Jimmy being a detective is yet another mark in his favour in Danny's mind -- a very small, very deep-seated part of him has not forgotten his childhood dream of being a police officer. He figures if nothing else, this will at least help him figure out if it's still something he would consider doing with his life, after.

The house they reach is not huge, but it's not small, either -- it's a decent-sized home for a family that has hopes of expanding, even though the Jamesons say they don't have children. It's at a lovely location in a quiet residential neighbourhood, each house not all that different from the others on the street. The girls squeal with delight when they find out the house has its own private beach, and even Matty cracks a smile at that -- he's always loved the sea, not like his older brother. Danny is unmoved by the news, but he's quietly happy at the others' excitement. God knows it's been too long since they had anything to be excited about.

He goes to help Jimmy with the luggage when he realises Jimmy went out without saying anything. When he walks down the driveway, he finds Jimmy talking genially to another man his age. The stranger has a weathered face, like he spends all his spare time out in the open air. There's a reassuring quality to him, although Danny would have been hard-pressed to tell what it was about him that gave the impression.

"Danny! Come meet my old partner, John McGarrett. John, this is Danny Williams, my nephew." The easy way with which Jimmy claims him as his own does something to Danny, makes him feel warm inside like he hasn't felt in far too long.

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Danny says, offering his hand.

"You too, son," John McGarrett says, shaking it warmly. "You must be what, sixteen? Seventeen? You look the same age as my son Steve."

"I'll be seventeen in August, Mr McGarrett."

"Oh, for goodness' sake, call me John. 'Mr McGarrett' makes me feel so _old_!" John laughs.

"You _are_ old," Jimmy laughs with him, slapping his shoulder.

"Shut up, you!" John grumbles, mock-punching him in the arm. Jimmy makes an exaggeratedly pained face. Danny finds he likes them immensely.

"Steve will be seventeen in August, too, what a coincidence! You're going to Kukui High, right? Clara's school?"

Danny nods.

"So is Steve! Tell you what, you come round tonight with Jimmy, and you can meet him! He can show you around until you get used to it, although god knows high school is more complicated than I can handle." John makes a face. "He's the Class President, so it's something he does all the time."

'Thank you, John. I'd like that," Danny says. He's kind of apprehensive of meeting other people from the school, but he supposes he has to start somewhere. And it would be kind of nice to know someone before he has to plunge in at the deep end on Monday.

"Right! See you at six, Jimmy!'

"You got it, McGarrett."

"John and his family live just down the block," Jimmy says when John's taken off. "He's got a daughter, too; how old is Amy again?"

"She's almost twelve," Danny supplies as he lifts Kate's suitcase out of the massive trunk.

"Mary turned twelve last month. Maybe Amy can come with us tonight? I'm sure she'd like meeting someone her own age, too."

"She'll be thrilled," Danny says, and means it.

The rooms that will be theirs for the duration are all up on the second floor. The Jamesons have two spare bedrooms in the house, so they'll all have to share, except--

"I want my own room," Matty states, jaw fixed in the stubborn line Danny knows all too well.

"Okay, uh--let me see, we could clear out the old storage room, what do you say, Jimmy?" Clara asks, thoughtful.

"You don't have to--Matty, don't be ungrateful--" Danny tries, even as he knows it's a lost cause.

Matty just looks at him, and the feigned indifference hurts Danny more than any angry scowl ever could.

"No, no, I'm sure we can manage," Jimmy says, and that's how Danny gets his own room by default.

It's not overly large; two growing boys would have constantly stepped on each other's toes trying to get around, but for one person it is perfect. The bed he's left with after they move the second to the spare room is a large single, and the mattress is soft and inviting. He has a desk, a small desk lamp that nevertheless lights the whole room, and a few bookcases on the walls. There is also a large-ish chest of drawers where Danny stows his spare t-shirts and jeans. There aren't all that many -- the girls needed more clothes than him, and Matty shot up so fast he went past Danny last year, and he'd been going through sizes like he's trying out for modelling, so Danny had gotten used to taking whatever clothes no longer fit Matty and making do. Only his shoulders had started growing out those last few months, and he's resigned to the thought that he's really going to need to go shopping soon enough, or nothing will fit him.

Then again, isn't the school supposed to have uniforms?

"We do," Clara says when he asks later that afternoon. "We can go get all of you fitted out tomorrow so you're ready for Monday. And I guess you'll need to get your textbooks on Monday morning, too. Are you going to take the same subjects as you've been studying so far?"

"Yeah," Danny says. "AP English and History, CP Pre-Calc, CP Chemistry."

Clara looks thoughtful. "Are you sure I can't tempt you to take AP Chemistry instead? Only if I remember correctly, Junior year CP Chemistry has a scheduling conflict with AP English."

Danny really doesn't like the sound of that. English has always been his best subject, and he's not about to drop it in favour of _Chemistry_. "I've never done AP Chemistry before, though," he admits worriedly.

"Oh, don't worry. I've seen your grades, and your Chemistry teacher says you're well above average for the class. I think you'll be all right. Besides," she goes on when she sees him biting his lip doubtfully, "Steve McGarrett is in AP Chemistry, top of the class, too, so I'm sure he'd lend you a hand if you got really muddled up."

This Steve McGarrett character is starting to sound more and more like a school nerd. Not that there's anything wrong with high school nerds -- god knows Danny's not far off one himself. He can only hope that Steve can talk about other things than Chemistry and sucking up to teachers.

It's not long after his talk with Clara that Jimmy yells up the stairs for Danny and Amy to get their shoes on, they're going. Danny slips his feet in his ratty Converse, fingers shaking ever-so-slightly on the laces. Whatever the guy's like, it's never easy meeting new people. Danny only wishes he didn't care as much as he pretends not to.

He meets Amy downstairs. She's frantically trying to tie up her hair into a long ponytail, but her hairband keeps slipping. Danny wrestles it off her and ties it round the thick hair, securing it tightly. Amy gives him a grateful smile.

He expects Jimmy to usher them into the car, but instead he leads the way down the street, adopting an easy pace that Danny and Amy both keep effortlessly. Jimmy has an amiable air around him, calm and reassuring, an open expression over his face. Danny tries not to fidget.

"You shouldn't worry," Jimmy says out of the blue, which is how Danny knows Jimmy isn't buying his act in the slightest. "Steve's a good kid. He's the team's star quarterback, John won't shut up about him. He's a really good player, too -- very quick on the uptake, our Steve. And Mary's a bright little thing, very loud but really friendly to newcomers."

Danny takes a measured breath. Class president, star quarterback, top of his class in Science -- he has the impression he's about to meet Mr Prom King. He tries to keep his hackles from rising with all that he has. The guy's bound to be a giant asshole.

Danny hopes he has terrible teeth, or has to wear awful bottle-lens glasses when he's not on the field. Anything to spoil the impression.

His thoughts derail when he feels Amy's small hand slip unobtrusively into his. He squeezes it reassuringly, taking in the wide eyes, the way she worries her lower lip. She sends him a small smile in return, and Danny feels her take a few deep breaths. 'Atta girl,' he thinks.

After ten minutes or so Jimmy takes a sharp left into a driveway and knocks on a perfectly ordinary brown front door. It flies open a moment later, revealing a girl around Amy's height, with the shrewdest pair of blue eyes Danny has ever seen. She looks them up and down, then grins.

"Mom! Dad! Uncle Jimmy's here!" she yells over her shoulder, and oh yes, Danny can see where her reputation comes from. He resists the urge to rub at his ear.

"Hi! I'm Mary," she adds, sending Danny a speculative glance before beaming at Amy. Danny feels her shoulders lose some of their stiffness, and she lets go of his hand. Mary is instantly and forever entrenched in his good books, as long as she keeps doing what she's doing.

"I'm Amy. This is my brother Danny," Amy says shyly -- she always is quiet around strangers. Danny sends Mary a small wave, which she answers before taking Amy's hand and dragging her into the house, "Come see my dolls, we're having a tea party while Steve's studying upstairs, so he can't interfere with the girl talk!"

A stylish woman with Mary's blonde hair takes her place, smiling at them in welcome. "Hey, guys," she says, voice low and lilting. Danny feels an immediate, visceral affection for her; there's something about her that speaks to him of warm evenings, a loving touch on the cheek, a hot cup of cocoa before bed.

"You must be Danny," she goes on, drawing him into a hug he is not the least prepared for. She smells of vanilla and cinnamon, and a hint of flowers, everything and nothing like what he remembers of his mom’s scent. He remains stiff for a moment, but by the time she draws back he’s reached up to pat her back awkwardly. "I'm Laura McGarrett. It's a pleasure to meet you; Clara's been telling me so much about you!"

"Hello, Mrs McGarrett," Danny says, still a little shaken.

She dimples at him, and Danny is charmed. "Please, call me Auntie Laura. All the kids do. Come in, come in! John's out back, Jimmy, if you want to go through. Danny, I'll take you to meet Steve. He's upstairs, finishing up his homework for tomorrow. He always leaves English until the last minute," she chides fondly.

Danny follows her silently up the stairs, down the corridor to the left, where she raps on the third door down, opening it so she can poke her head inside. "Steve? Danny's here! Are you done?"

"Yeah, mom, let him in," Danny hears from the inside. The voice is about as low as his, and there's the same lilting accent as Laura's threading through it.

Laura turns to smile at Danny and pushes the door open, standing aside to make space for Danny to pass her.

"Hi," the guy--Steve says, smiling. Danny feels like he must have walked head-first into a wall. He takes in Steve's height, his easy grin, the way his eyes crinkle and his teeth flash in a daze, feeling punch-drunk and stupid.

"Hi," he echoes lamely, and wants nothing more than for a hole to open up underneath him and swallow him whole.

Steve doesn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. He jumps off his bed, leaving the cover wrinkled and his book -- "Othello" -- lying face-up with a pencil stuck inside marking his place, and sticks out a hand for Danny to shake. Danny takes it automatically, struggling not to shudder at the touch.

"Come downstairs in a while, boys, John's firing up the grill," Laura says, breaking the moment. Danny snatches his hand back from Steve's hold, cheeks flaming, shattering his non-blushing streak to pieces. "We'll have steaks."

"Are you making mac potato salad?" Steve asks enthusiastically.

Laura grins. "You have to ask?" she teases, and Steve beams at her.

The door snicks shut behind her, and Steve turns back to him. Danny wishes he wouldn't; he still doesn't have himself under control. Looks like those feelings he was resigned to never figuring out were much easier to comprehend when faced with someone like Steve McGarrett.

"So, Danny, when did you get here?" Steve asks, face open and friendly.

"Just this morning," Danny manages; his tongue feels too big for his mouth, and his blood is pounding in his head. He hates it, hates feeling so out of control and shaken. He slams himself shut like a gaping door on an air current, sealing all the confusion inside. This is not the time to be picking apart that particular revelation, and he doesn't want the first person he meets on this hellhole of an island to think he's a moron who can't hold a conversation.

"So you've never been here before?" At Danny's head shake, Steve grins. "Don't worry, I'll show you round all the cool places. Some of us are meeting up later, up at Ala Moana beach, it's only a few miles from here. If you wanna come, I can introduce you to everybody."

Danny wants to say 'no'; it's too much, meeting all these new people, having to break into an already tight group, having to stake his space yet again -- but he's going to have to, sooner or later, and he's not stupid -- having Steve there would make things go _much_ smoother.

So, "That would be great," he says, trying out a smile. Steve beams at him. 'What a goofball,' Danny finds himself thinking fondly, and promptly stomps all over the stray thought.

Steve drags him downstairs then, chattering about the school (great), the football team (awesome), and his English teacher (the toughest nut of the lot to crack). Danny mentions he's doing the AP class, and Steve stares at him with a hint of admiration.

"Dude, good luck," he says, shaking his head. Danny's not apprehensive, not at all. Really.

John ropes Steve in to help with the plating of the cooked meat, and Danny wanders off to see how Amy's doing. He finds her sitting with Mary, who's chattering a mile a minute and showing her how to use a toy tank to roll over a line of G. I. Joes. Danny wonders what happened to the tea party, but Amy looks thrilled, so Danny slips away as silently as he arrived.

"Danny," Steve yells; Danny's heart absolutely does not flip at hearing his name in Steve's voice. "Dinner! Mary, stop mauling my toys and go wash your hands!"

"They're my toys now," Mary yells back, and sticks her tongue out at him. Steve makes a face and she laughs, jumping up and helping Amy off the floor. "I'm going, I'm going!"

"She's such a pain in my ass," Steve complains, but Danny's pleased to hear that the malicious note that so many older brothers infuse this statement with is completely absent from his voice.

"Sisters," Danny commiserates, but he's grinning.

Dinner is a loud affair; there's another bunch of cops that turn up just in time to grab a seat at the table, and some of them have brought their wives. Danny notices the relaxed atmosphere, the friendly ribbing, the way the wives share a put-upon glance here and there, the way the cops slap each other on their backs every so often. They're all of them local, including the youngest -- a rookie cop, Danny thinks. He and Steve chat football, and Danny gathers he used to be a quarterback too, back in his day.

"Chin Ho Kelly," he introduces himself to Danny. "I'm John McGarrett's partner. He's training me up."

"Danny Williams, pleased to meet you," Danny replies. Chin's grip is quick and sure, and he has fighter's hands, old cuts and calluses -- Danny recognises his own, and he misses it with a sudden, visceral pang. Chin sees him staring, of course he does; he might be new, but he's partnered up with one of the best guys on the force. He doesn't say anything, though. Danny doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

"Chin," Mary interrupts, standing right behind Chin's chair and watching him beseechingly. "Why didn't you bring Kono with you?"

Chin smiles at her and Amy, who's sticking close to her new friend. "Kono has surfing practice, Mary. She's switching to a bigger board, remember?"

"Oh! That was today? I'd better call her tonight so she can tell me how it went," Mary says eagerly.

Chin grins at her back when she runs off. "Kono Kalakaua's my little cousin," he explains when he sees Danny watching him. "She's already on the fast track to pro surfing. The scouts handpicked her for intensive training. Do you surf, Danny?"

Danny makes a rude noise. "Surf? No, thank you. I don't trust a tiny little board to hold me upright."

"But you haven't even tried," Steve says from across the table, aghast. "You have to, Danny, it's the best feeling in the world! I can teach you, if you like!"

Danny opens his mouth to say ' _hell_ no', and then he looks at Steve's excited face again. _Oh, god_. "Maybe," he says instead, and does not wait to see Steve beam before he looks away. Unfortunately, he looks away at Chin, who's watching him knowingly. If this goes on, his famous reputation for never blushing is going to be in tatters before too long.

Danny waits for dinner to be over and Steve to run upstairs to change before asking Jimmy if it's okay to go to the beach with Steve. Jimmy gives him a searching look, then smiles. "Sure. Just be home before ten, and get Steve to drive you so you don't get lost. It's only your first night here, and things can look strange after dark."

"Thanks," Danny says, keeping a worried eye on Amy.

"I'll see her home okay," Jimmy adds, noticing the direction of his gaze. "Go have fun, Danny."

Danny smiles at him faintly, apprehension licking at his stomach. He doesn't have much time to mull things over before Steve's back, looking utterly devastating in a simple white T-shirt and faded jeans. "C'mon, Danny, let's go," he urges, tugging on Danny's sleeve to get him moving.

Which is, of course, the moment Amy realises Danny's leaving without her. She watches him with huge hurt eyes, lower lip trembling a little. "Danno," she whimpers, almost silently, trying not to show how scared she is that Danny's going even though she’s supposed to be old enough for it not to bother her anymore.

Danny seriously considers just telling Steve he's changed his mind, but Steve's watching him curiously and Danny doesn't want to embarrass Amy in front of him. So he just crouches down, looking her in the eye. "I won't be long, Amy. I'm just going to meet a few people from my new school. You're having fun here with Mary, aren't you?"

Amy nods, still a little tearful but more reassured. It's their first night here, Danny reminds himself, and almost sends himself into a fit of crushing guilt for leaving Kate behind before he remembers Clara's promise of making cookies together and Kate's happy nod.

"Okay, Danno," Amy says, and sends Steve a suspicious glance. He grins at her and she nods again, to herself this time. "See you later," she grins at last, and skips back to where Mary's lining up the next soon-to-be demolished squad.

Steve's still watching him out of the corners of his eyes as they climb into a battered truck; he only stops so he can carefully back it out onto the street. Danny's starting to feel pretty safe when Steve switches gears smoothly and guns the accelerator, screeching off down the street.

"Hey, hey, Jesus, no one's dying," he bitches, grabbing hold of the sidebar.

Steve, the asshole, grins at him, excitement making his eyes dance. "I can't wait for you to meet everybody," he says happily.

"I'm looking forward to that, too, provided you don't crash us into the side of a house on our way there. I have three siblings, okay, I don't want to die a fiery death."

Steve rolls his eyes and makes a 'pffffft' noise. "No one's dying a fiery death, stop being so melodramatic, Danno."

Danny bristles. "Who told you you can call me that? That's my sister's nickname for me, it doesn't mean you can use it!"

"What's 'Danno' stand for, anyway?" Steve asks, completely unbothered by Danny's outburst.

Danny seethes in silence for the time it takes them to pass a few blocks, but Steve just drives, easy and at peace with the world, if you didn't count him doing 50 past the edge of the neighbourhood.

"When Amy was little, she tried to say my name, and got as far as Danno, nothing more. So now Amy and Kate, that's my youngest sister, they both call me Danno."

"Huh," Steve says, and after a moment, "'S cute."

"I don't need you to tell me that," Danny grumbles, annoyed at how easily Steve had wriggled that one from him.

"So, you said three," Steve goes on, like it makes perfect sense to him.

"I--what?" It doesn't to Danny.

"Three siblings. There's Amy, whom I've met, there's Kate; who's the third?"

Danny's mood plummets at the reminder of Matty, pissed and miserable, curled in a tight ball of disaffected anger in his new room. What the hell is he going to do about him?

"My brother, Matthew," Danny says, and it's only after the silence stretches too long that he realises Steve has switched off the engine and is looking at him thoughtfully. Danny wonders what Steve sees in his face that he drops it, clicking the door open and jumping out.

"We're here," Steve says, and it's only a little forced after the tension of Danny's reply.

Danny shakes himself and looks around. The beach isn't much different than any other; sand, ocean, people strolling down at the waterline, a bunch of guys and girls his age lounging on a few spread blankets, laughing and passing the time. A cheer goes up when they spot Steve, who's back to grinning goofily and loping forward on his too-long legs. Danny trails behind him, trying to keep his nerves from showing.

"Everyone, this is Danny Williams," Steve says, slowing down generously for Danny to catch up before tugging him closer to the group. "Danny, this is Meka, Kamekona, Catherine, Malia, Joseph, Ailani, and Keoki."

"Hi," Danny says, and tries not to look too out of his depth.

"Hello," they chorus back, before the one Danny was told is Meka pokes Steve in the leg.

"What's up with you, McGarrett? You bringing in more stray _haoles_ to make you feel at home?"

There's a unanimous "Ohhhh" that splits the air, and Meka gets lost under a barrage of sand being thrown at him.

"Shut up, asshole," Steve gripes, but he's laughing when he throws himself on top of Meka and wriggles him into a headlock while the others cheer him on. Meka flails wildly, making theatrical choking sounds before thumping Steve in the kidney. Danny knows his punches, and that one is pretty damn weak, just hard enough to hurt, but nowhere near enough to cause damage.

"Fine, fine," Meka bleats, and pants for breath when Steve lets him up. "Jesus, McGarrett, always with the bodily harm."

Steve grins victoriously, elbowing Meka in the side to move over and make space for Danny. Meka shifts without a word, rolling his eyes. "You'll stay away from that one if you know what's good for you," he advises Danny, throwing Steve a dark look. Steve laughs with the rest of them, kicking at Meka's ankle across Danny's leg.

"Meka's a pitcher in the baseball team," he tells Danny while Meka rubs at his leg and scowls at him. Danny perks up, interested despite himself.

"You play, brah?" Meka asks, gaze sharpening as he looks Danny over.

"Shortstop," Danny says, looking right back at him, _daring_ him to make the joke.

"Figures," is what Meka says, but his eyes are dancing. "Be on the pitch at 3pm on Monday, it's right behind the Arts building. McGarrett will show you if you can't find it, or rope in one of the others in case I don't find you first."

Danny nods. "Sure, okay." He wasn't planning on trying out, what with his knee still playing up, but he supposes it can't hurt to see what the school team is like.

"So, Danny, what brings you to Hawai'i?" Catherine asks. She's a tall, gorgeous brunette, with lovely soft features and a killer body. Danny would feel intimidated, if it wasn't for how obviously friendly and laid-back she is.

He wonders how to answer -- the question was bound to turn up eventually, and if he'd been smart, he would have thought of how to play this. He isn't all that smart, though, apparently -- just look at how flustered he's getting around McGarrett.

"It's a long story," he says at last, wishing he knew how to tell it without going into details. The people in a circle around him look intrigued; Steve is practically leaning towards him, hanging on his every word, as if that would convince Danny to share it. The hell of it is, it does. It's kind of flattering, that these guys want to know more about him even though they've just met him. "Okay, well. Uh," he trails off, wondering where to start. Oh, well. He supposes it's best to just say it, so it's over with. "My mother died two years ago. Car accident." He ignores the murmurs of condolences. Steve looks distraught. "She was a Jersey native, like my dad, and both her parents were long dead. We never knew she had any other family until three weeks ago, when I open the door to see this woman who looks just like her. Turns out we have an aunt -- Clara Jameson. She's--"

"Oh, the Principal," Ailani says, something unpleasant twisting her face. Danny falters, suddenly unsure about saying any more.

The rest of the people glare at the girl; she rolls her eyes, flicks back her long hair, a curtain of black in the falling dusk, like a dismissal.

"Long story short, we're here until the end of the year. After that, we're probably going back to New Jersey." He decides not to elaborate; the rest of it's none of their business.

Steve looks crestfallen, and Danny notices the rest of them look a little uncomfortable after Ailani's outburst.

"You say 'we'. Do you have brothers and sisters?" Malia asks, eyes gentle. There's something very soothing about her, something that makes Danny feel comfortable again, accepted.

"I have two sisters and a brother. Actually, Matthew will probably be in our school. He's fifteen, a year below me."

"Yes, he'll be in my year," Keoki says. He doesn't look any different from the rest, but obviously he must be a sophomore. Now that Danny looks closer, he has the same soft brown eyes as Malia, and the same heart-shaped face. They must be siblings.

Danny only wishes he and Matty got along so well, to hang out together. They haven't for long before their mother's death.

"What classes are you taking, brah?" the big guy -- Kamekona -- asks.

"The usual," Danny says. "AP English and History, CP Pre-Calc. I wanted to do CP Chemistry, but apparently the schedule clashes with AP English, so I'm going to have to do AP. I don't want to drop AP English."

"That's cool," Steve says, excited. "I'm in AP Chemistry; don't worry, Danno, I got your back."

Which is kind of a lame thing to say, except coming from Steve it's more endearing than anything. Seems Danny's not alone in that estimation -- the rest of the people have grins of varying width plastered on their faces. The marked exception is Ailani, who's frowning off into the ocean. Danny gets the feeling she doesn't like him much. He wonders whether that's because he's a _haole_ \-- yeah, he pretty much figured what the word means, from Steve's reaction -- or it's something more personal. Maybe she's having problems with Clara.

He smiles back at Steve, because he can't _not_ , and lets the chatter of the others distract him.

He appears to share most of his classes with Joseph Ling, a Chinese-Hawaiian who is apparently some kind of math genius. He doesn't _look_ like one -- he's about Danny's height, well-built and tanned, strong arms and stronger legs. If Danny wasn't so bowled over by a certain 5'9'' goof who's grinning at Danny like he's a shiny new toy all to himself, Danny thinks he'd have found Joseph _much_ more interesting. And judging by the way Joseph's looking at him, Danny's not the only one. Perhaps this is worth looking into; it's not like Steve would ever be interested, if his arm over Catherine's shoulder and the way she's leaning into him is any indication. Just Danny's luck, as usual -- to fall for the one person that is unattainable.

He refuses to feel maudlin, though. Crush or no, Steve's been nothing but pleasant, eager to get to know him and be his friend, and it's not something Danny's willing to jeopardise.

Night has almost taken over by the time the impromptu party breaks up and they head off to their cars. Danny says good night to all of them, feeling much better about Monday already. He climbs into Steve's truck, and pointedly fastens his seatbelt. Steve rolls his eyes at him and peels away from the street with an apparently ingrained disregard for normal speed. He has fantastic reflexes, Danny will give him that, but it still doesn't make him feel any better.

"So, Monday. We've Chemistry first thing; do you want to ride to school with me? We'll have to pick up Catherine on the way, but you're more than welcome. We could go in a little early, and I can show you around, take you to the registrar's office to get your schedule." Steve throws him a glance and looks back at the street, looking oddly unsure, like he expects Danny to blow him off.

Danny's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. Monday's going to be hard enough as it is. "That would be great, if you're sure."

"I'm asking, aren't I?" Steve says with a crooked smile that does vaguely worrying things to Danny's insides.

Steve pulls up outside Clara's house easily enough, without the expected squeal of tires. Danny grins, but says nothing, even when Steve looks at him suspiciously. "Thanks," he tells Steve instead. "That was really nice. Thank you for inviting me along."

"Any time, Danno," Steve says, and okay, it's far too early to read anything into whatever Steve says, but Danny would be blind not to notice the fondness in Steve's voice. "See you Monday, 7.30am."

"Okay. Night," Danny says awkwardly, undoing his seatbelt and slipping out of the door.

He watches Steve execute a neat U-turn and drive off, red brakelights flashing at the stop sign at the end of the street. He stands there a little longer than probably advisable, if the pleased light in Clara's eyes is any indication.

"I'm so glad you're making friends, Danny," she says quietly, as if expecting Danny to ignore her.

He smiles at her, lets her see the relief in his eyes that things seem to be going okay. "Have Kate and Amy gone to bed?"

"An hour ago. I had trouble getting Amy to go up; she was very excited about meeting Mary Ann."

"That's fantastic," Danny says, grinning -- excellent news, indeed. "And... Matty?" He's a little afraid to hear the answer, but Matty's his responsibility, and unpleasant or no, he needs to know.

Clara's smile dims a little; it's enough that Danny knows whatever it is, it hasn't been pretty.

"He hasn't left his room, and he wouldn't answer me when I tried to call him down to dinner," Clara admits, looking distressed.

Danny wants to smack his stupid brother over the head. What kind of a way is that to treat your family, even if it's been until recently estranged? Clara and Jimmy are offering them their roof, their help, and Matty being a stubborn moody asshole is not helping at all.

"I'm sorry," Danny says miserably; he hates feeling so helpless.

"Oh, Danny, it's not your fault," Clara says; her voice is soft, and her eyes are kind, and Danny kind of wants to cry at the understanding he sees in them. "He's young, he's lost his mom and been uprooted; if anything, I'm amazed how well the rest of you are holding up. He'll come round."

"Yeah," Danny says, and his voice is gruff with held back emotions. "I hope so."

"You'll see. All we can do is be there for him when he needs us."

It's the kind of thing that he'd heard his mother say to his father, once. It makes his eyes sting a little, to hear it now from someone who looks so much like her.

It takes him a long time to get to sleep that night, mind full of the last few hours. Meeting Steve -- he doesn't know whether that's a blessing or a curse as yet. Already he misses his presence and his smile and the way he keeps his eyes on Danny all the time. The thought that things might change once Monday comes along, that Steve might revert to someone who barely notices Danny's presence, well, it's not a pleasant thought.

\---

Sunday passes uneventfully. They get fitted for their school uniforms, and Danny becomes the owner of three plain white shirts, two pairs of trousers, and a school jacket. He thinks he's done, but to his surprise Clara sends the girls and Matty with Jimmy and drags him straight into another shop, and another after that. She ignores his protests and piles up T-shirts, jeans, socks, a very nice evening shirt and a pair of swanky black pants. Danny has never bought so many new clothes in his life; he has no idea how he's gonna pay her back, especially when she proceeds to buy much the same for Matty. Then Danny spends another hour getting progressively more worried when she goes to town buying a ton of stuff for Amy and Kate, nice tops, a couple of pretty skirts, some boot-cut cotton pants. And then they go into a shoe shop, and Danny starts panicking for real.

"Clara," he hisses under his breath when she tries to make him try a pair of shiny leather loafers. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but that is a lot of money. We--Dad--it's _a lot_ , okay; I'm not sure he'll be able to pay you back straight away."

Clara looks at him, mouth open a little in surprise. "Oh, Danny, sweetheart, no. I'm not looking for your father to pay me back; I have two nephews and two nieces I've never seen before; of course I want to spoil them rotten!" Her smile fades a little, though Danny's sure someone else might not have noticed how brittle it suddenly becomes. "Jimmy and I, well. We tried, but it just wasn't happening for us. So please, let me enjoy looking after the four of you while I have you."

Danny can't help it; he drops the loafers and draws Clara into a tight hug. She trembles a little against him, and he can't not notice the way she clings to him for a moment. Then she's letting him go and blinking a little too often, but her smile is back to being 100% genuine. "Now go on, try these. We can come back with Matty and Kate and Amy another day."

The girls are predictably overjoyed by their presents, and even Matty unbends enough to say "thank you" and try on the pants they got him for length, looking pretty happy when they fit him.

This time, when Amy and Kate throw themselves on Clara, babbling their thanks, Danny knows enough to see the way Clara holds them a little closer, a little tighter than she would just any kid from her school.

Of course, it all goes to hell when Matty asks how they're getting to school the next morning.

"Steve McGarrett's driving me. He offered to show me round," Danny says with a feeling of dread in his stomach, which makes sense when Matty's face falls and his eyes narrow.

"So what, you're leaving Clara to drive me, so I can flounder like an idiot, looking for the registrar's office?"

"Matthew, it's okay, I'll show you--" Clara tries, but Matty cuts her off.

"No, thanks. Don't want your charity. I'll find it myself."

The slam of the front door is loud in the stunned silence of the five of them staring at each other. Danny can see the flash of anger in Jimmy's eyes, and opens his mouth--

"No," Clara cuts him off this time. "Don't apologise for him, Danny. It's not your fault."

"But--" Danny tries, and it's Jimmy who cuts in this time.

"Danny. He's not a child anymore. He has to take responsibilities for his own actions."

Danny subsides miserably. Amy gently frees herself from Clara's arms and comes to sit next to Danny, leaning into him. The warm weight of her does make him feel better; Kate climbing into his lap like she tends to when she's upset helps to ground him. Jimmy and Clara watch them with sad eyes, and Danny has to close his so he won't scream -- he's so fucking angry with Matty, acting like he's the only one cut off and drifting, the only one who has the right to feel betrayed and pissed off at the world. He has half a mind to go after him and sock him one, for putting all this pressure on Danny, on the rest of them, for making Kate and Amy unhappy and Clara and Jimmy feel like they've done something wrong.

He has no idea what to do about it.

\---

Not even a week of school gone, and already it has come to this. Danny seethes uselessly, jammed inside his school locker. He knew this pineapple-infested circle of hell would be trouble, and with Homecoming week drawing close, it's only racking up the tension. It's a _bad_ time to be an angry Jersey export on the short side, the perfect size to get stuffed into one of the endless row of identical lockers. Good thing he caught the number just as his forehead was heading for it. He rubs the tender spot just over his left eyebrow, certain it's going to bruise.

The urge to curl up in a ball of misery and homesickness is strong; luckily for him, the urge to yell at someone is stronger. He is not some kind of push-over, just because he's short; he could pummel each and every one of those assholes to a pulp, given the chance. It's only when four of them come up against him at the same time that he might have the slightest bit of trouble, as evidenced by his current predicament.

He holds no hopes that the entire school won't hear about it by the end of the day; it's a small blessing that only a select few can put a name to the face, or know him in any way.

Then he remembers one of them is Steve 'School President', 'Captain of the Football Team', '4.0 GPA', 'Shoo-in For Homecoming Prince' McGarrett, and the urge to whimper almost wins out. There's no way Steve will want to be friends with him after this; he's already got the reputation of the loudmouth angry new _haole_ kid; and if that wasn't bad enough, he's somehow managed to make an enemy of the most popular girl in their year, even if he has no idea how he's done it. He should have known Ailani would be trouble.

His current location is more than partly his own fault, if he's honest. He's getting more and more evidence these days that he just isn't a smart guy. A smart guy would have let that poor first year kid, cowering in the corner between the lockers and the wall, get traumatized and beaten up and bullied by a bunch of bored senior years looking for some kind of entertainment, and kept his head down, but _no_. No, he has to go over and pick a fight with them so the kid can get away. Because that's the kind of schmuck he is.

He sighs. At least the kid hadn't wasted any time, running off as fast as his skinny legs could carry him, so Danny wouldn't have to deal with the distraction. And he'd managed to land a pretty sweet punch on the biggest guy's jaw, hard enough that he'd staggered back, a look of shock in his eyes. Pity the others hadn't been half as surprised, hence the ache in his kidney where one of them had kneed him as they'd shoved him inside and slammed the door locked.

His last glimpse had been of Ailani's face, peeking just round the far corner, malicious glee twisting her full lips.

He debates between staying quiet and making as much noise as he can. He tries yet again to lever the door open with his shoulder, putting as much force into it as the cramped space allows; but he can't find his balance, and he just can't rustle up any decent kind of leverage. In any case, the lock appears to have jammed and there's no movement from the door.

Fuck it, at least the janitor would only laugh at him. With that in mind, Danny gives in to the slight panic simmering under the surface and gives the metal door a few hard kicks as soon as he hears footsteps approach down the corridor. The footsteps stop and there's silence for a moment before Danny rolls his eyes.

"Could you open locker 532, if it's not too much trouble?" he suggests, biting back the sarcasm to a manageable level. Whoever it is, they’re about to help him out, he reminds himself.

There's a strangled sound that could have just as soon been a laugh as a cough, and the locker door gets tugged. It won't budge, and Danny's starting to get a little worried when a well-placed kick in the bottom left corner has the door bursting open. Danny's split second relief at the light and the fresh air gets smothered without a trace when he takes a good look at his rescuer.

"The world hates me," Danny grumbles quietly as he stares at Steve's face, twisted by equal parts amusement and concern.

"You okay there, Danno?" Steve asks, and okay, there's just no mistaking the worry in his voice.

"Oh, yeah, no, fine, just peachy, you know, forty-five minutes in a tiny, dank little space do wonders for the constitution," Danny says, ignoring the way his stomach tightens when Steve looks hurt.

And then Steve's eyes sharpen and fix on a certain spot on Danny's forehead, and oh, hey now, that look? Does pretty uncomfortable things to Danny's pants, considering the fact Steve is clearly thinking of finding whoever put that bruise there and punching them in the face, _a lot_.

Steve lifts his hand and traces the sensitive skin, and Danny bites on his tongue to stop the hiss trying to get out at the sting of pain. Steve looks like he sees right through his act, if the way his scowl deepens is any indication.

Danny's never been particularly fond of self-delusion; it can be downright dangerous, as well as insulting to his own intelligence. Nevertheless he's willing to call the undeniable fluttering in his stomach a bout of gas rather than the butterflies he suspects it to be. It would work, too, if the size of said butterflies was not closer to that of some dangerous mutated species. Or a flock of pterodactyls.

"Who did this?" Steve growls, and yeah, okay, enough of the caveman act, thank you _so_ much.

"Doesn't matter," Danny says, because he's not about to out Ailani as the mastermind behind the 'accident', not until he knows for sure what's going on there. And she _is_ Steve's friend. "The other guy looks worse," he adds, allowing himself a smug look.

Steve is still clenching his teeth, though, and glaring at Danny like he's trying to cower him into submission. It's not working. At all. It's not really fucking hot, either.

"You," Danny states, jabbing his finger in the direction of Steve's face. Steve goes cross-eyed trying to follow it. "Stop the Neanderthal routine right now. I don't need you to defend me, or fight my battles. I can hold my own."

"Oh yeah?" Steve snaps, irritation replacing the concern. "This is fighting in the corridors. I could give you detention for that. Is that what you _need_?"

" _No_ ," Danny growls. What even is this? "I need you to be my _friend_ , not my fucking knight in shining armour, okay? In case you hadn't noticed, I am not a 14-year-old girl who needs her big bad boyfriend to punch someone because he said her ass looked fat." He flushes a little at that -- sometimes, because of this very goofball, a 14-year-old girl is exactly what he feels like.

Steve opens his mouth, looking constipated.

"I'm not your sister, either," Danny says pointedly, bringing to Steve's mind the fact that Danny's an older brother, too. He'd remind Steve of his prior fight experience, but nobody here's supposed to know about that, although he suspects his dad told Clara, and by extension Jimmy.

Steve glowers. "Come on, Danny, I won't do anything." Danny scoffs, and Steve presses his lips together before trying again. "Just tell me who did this."

"Why, so _you_ can get in a fight with them and get _yourself_ in detention? I don't think so. Just let it go," Danny tells him.

Steve deflates, and yeah, that's a definite pout on his face because Danny won't let him punch a guy's lights out for thinking Danny's fair game. It's kind of ridiculously endearing.

"God, why am I even still talking to you right now," Danny sighs, shouldering his backpack and shaking his head.

Steve stops pouting and starts looking smug. "Because I rescued you from certain death?" he hazards, smirking. Danny wants to do violent things to that smirk, involving his fists. Or, god help him, his mouth.

"Certain boredom, maybe, I'll give you that." He hesitates, but he hates feeling indebted to anyone, least of all to someone he might, maybe, possibly kind of find mind-bogglingly attractive. "Look, man, thanks," he says, offering Steve his hand.

Steve takes his hand, holds it for a second too long. "I'm just wondering here, theoretically, did that hurt?" He's still smirking.

Danny glares at him, but it's tinged with a reluctant amusement. "You've no idea," he says. Steve grins at him.

"Wanna go grab a coke or something?" he asks, letting Danny's hand go and sticking both of his in the pockets of his uniform pants, which look so freakishly good on him they should be illegal.

"Best idea you've had all day."

\---

Why, god, _why_ did he let Catherine talk him into this; he really needs to learn how to resist those begging eyes of hers. He's only known her for, what, three weeks? And already he can't refuse her anything, even if she _is_ his unreasonable crush's girlfriend. Although, it would be kind of fun to hang out with the others during the Homecoming game. He's spent the past couple Saturdays with them on that beach where they met the first time, even though Ailani was markedly absent. No one had said a word about it, though, and Danny hadn't cared enough to ask them about it.

It's just him, Catherine, Malia and Kamekona, though -- Steve, Joseph and Keoki are all on the team. They get sodas and hot dogs and nachos and all the terrible junk food Danny adores and Steve makes a face of impending doom at, and climb their way up in the stands, all the way to the top where there's still a few empty spaces. They settle down, juggling all their purchases, as well as the daft foam hand that Kamekona is waving around. Left to his own devices for a moment, Danny looks around at the crowd. He spots John McGarrett a few rows below him, as well as Jimmy and Chin on either side of him. They are chatting, heads close together; Danny knows how excited they've been about the game, it's all they've talked about for the past week.

"What'd I miss?" Meka says, shouldering his way past the others to drop on the other side of Danny, arms heaving with food.

"Not much, they aren't even ready to start," Danny says, taking Meka's coke off him so he can distribute the three massive buckets of popcorn around him, for maximum ease of reach. "Are you going to eat all that, Hanamoa? It's a wonder you aren't the size of a house already."

Meka narrows his eyes at Danny's own stash. "You say something, Jersey? I can't hear you over the sound of you crunching those disgusting nachos," he shoots back, and Danny grins. It had been a slow start between them, but three weeks after his _haole_ dig on the beach, he and Danny are practically inseparable. It's probably due to their first baseball practice together -- Meka's friendly slap on the back, the "Not bad for a _haole_ " that had been tinged with affection and honest appreciation.

Catherine leans across from Malia, catching Danny's eye and interrupting their friendly griping. "You going to the Homecoming Dance next week, Danny?"

"I don't know," Danny hedges, looking away. It would mean he'd have to invite someone to go as his date, and truthfully, he can't think of a more awkward way to spend an evening, hanging out with someone he barely knows.

"You must," Malia chimes in. "It's a great party! Oh, and don't worry about dates," she adds when she sees the nervous flicker of his eyes. "We're all going as a group."

Danny looks at her doubtfully. "Right, because no one will know Catherine and McGarrett are going together."

All of them stare at him for a long moment. "What?" he snaps, flushing and avoiding their eyes. Surely he wasn't being horribly obvious? Was his tone too bitter? Oh my god, he is such a moron.

Catherine starts laughing, an amused, joyful sound, but just shakes her head when he says "What?!" again.

"We'll talk about it later," she promises, and that's the last she'll say on the subject, no matter how hard Danny stares at her.

"Whoa," Meka says just then at his side, and Danny turns, worried Meka might have caught on to the mess going on in Danny's head, ridiculous as the thought is.

But Meka's not looking at him at all, and a second later Danny forgets all about Steve and Catherine and what an idiot he's made of himself. His eyes land on a familiar wavy head of hair -- Matty. He's sitting in the middle of a bunch of boys of varying ages, and Danny can see from all the way up here that they're bad news. They're wearing ripped jeans and T-shirts, some of them have buzz cuts, and all of them are yelling and laughing nastily. People circle them when they can, hurry past them when they have no other choice but to walk nearby. Danny sees one of them hike up the skirt of a sweet-looking girl trying to scuttle away unnoticed, the fear in her eyes, and his blood _boils_ in his veins with the need to crash his way over there and lay the guy out cold.

"What the fuck?" he grits out.

"They're seriously bad news," Meka says, glaring down at them. "They just don't care. You can't threaten them into behaving, because most of them are delinquents with files in HPD. They're only tolerated because most of them are seniors and in a year they'll be gone. The hope is that the little gang will fall apart without its leaders."

Danny's eyes bore into the back of Matty's head. What the fucking hell is he _thinking_ , getting involved with shitheads like that??

"Hey, man, you okay? We don't have much to do with them, and they blow school off most days anyway."

Danny grits his teeth so hard he thinks they might break under the strain. He doesn't notice the worried glances of the others. "That's my brother, third from the right," he forces out.

He does notice the quick, unsuppressed intakes of air from either side of him. He sends his friends a quick look, seeing his own worry reflected in their eyes.

"Danny, you have to do something. There's rumours of drugs and alcohol, and last month a 7-11 got held up, only no one could prove it's them."

Danny stares at his brother, unseeing. He'd had no idea Matty was that out of control. Jimmy's tight-lipped silences around him for the past week suddenly make much more sense. Jimmy must know Matty's gotten mixed up with that gang, but he hadn't told anyone.

"I'll talk to him," he says, just before the first whistle blows and he gets distracted. No way is he forgetting about it, though.

He gets lost in the game, and for as long as it lasts, he allows himself to watch Steve unrestrainedly. He is _magnificent_. Football has never been Danny's game, but he knows the basics well enough, and he enjoys a good show like any red-blooded American. But Steve's performance is something else. He is so light on his feet, so quick; there's barely the suggestion of movement from his teammates and Steve's there, ready to field the pass. He twists and turns and weaves, and as soon as he gets the slightest chance, he runs like he was made for it. Danny watches him score point after point, and there's nothing in his head but white noise, nothing but _Steve_.

He only comes out of what must have been nothing short of a trance when the half-time whistle sounds and he's wrenched back in the here-and-now, face red with excitement, neck sweaty and his pants so tight that just the thought of getting up is painful. This is a nightmare. Thank god no one around him is paying any attention to him when he appropriates a half-finished bucket of popcorn from Meka and plants it firmly over his groin.

"You go ahead," he tells the rest of them when they make noises of taking a breather. "I want a word with Jimmy and John McGarrett." The reason for it quickly takes care of his arousal.

The others nod with sympathetic looks on their faces, and leave him to struggle down to their level. The gang is gone by then; Danny doubts they'll be back, the game would be far too tame for them. He makes it to Jimmy, who's listening to John chatter with an indulgent look on his face. It slips off when he sees Danny fight his way to him determinedly. He must give John and Chin the heads-up, because when Danny reaches them, they have their cop faces firmly on.

"Jimmy," Danny starts, and sees Jimmy's eyes tighten.

"You've seen him?" Jimmy says, doing Danny the service of not pretending he doesn't know what this is about.

"Yeah. Why didn't you say anything?" Danny asks, not accusing, but he can't hide his anger at Matty.

"I didn't want to worry you and the girls. I should have known you'd find out," Jimmy says rueful, but there's a clear note of pride in his voice when he adds, "You're sharp as a tack, my boy."

Something tightens in Danny at the compliment, and the affection in Jimmy's voice.

"Does Clara know?" Danny asks, because he'd rather drink all of the poison while he's at it.

"Yeah, she knows," Jimmy sighs. "She knows about all of them, but there's nothing she can do about it -- nothing they do happens on school grounds, see, so she can't suspend them or expel them, and no one would come forward and give up any information. Everyone's just too afraid of them."

Danny sits heavily in the temporarily vacant seat next to Jimmy. "How the hell did he get mixed up with them so quickly?" he groans, rubbing at his face. "If I'd only seen it sooner--"

"Stop," Jimmy tells him, cop voice, demanding obedience. "Danny, there's nothing you could have done about it. Matthew has to see the truth for himself, or he might never leave that path."

"How can you be so calm?" Danny snaps, glaring at him. "You don't know what he might get himself into!"

Jimmy lays a heavy, comforting hand on his shoulder. 'I have to trust that he's your brother," he says gently. "You're exceptional, Danny; your spirit, your integrity, the way you care for the others, it's a rare thing to find in one as young as you. I have to hope that Matthew's made of the same stock as you, no matter how angry and hurt he is right now."

Danny deflates, slumping against the back of the seat even as people start trickling back into the row.

"It'll be okay, kiddo," John says, clapping his knee across Jimmy's bulk. "We're keeping an eye on them. We'll make sure nothing too bad happens to your brother before we can catch the rest of them. Go on and enjoy the rest of the game."

Danny nods and stands, starts to make his way back to where he sees the others hovering, waiting for him. "Steve's pretty brilliant," he stops to say when he's just past John, grinning at him. John beams back.

"He broke the last of Chin's records tonight," John boasts. Danny slides his eyes to Chin, who's shaking his head ruefully.

"Damn _haole_ ," Chin grumbles, but he's grinning, too.

"Come on, Danny," Meka yells, waving.

"Okay," Danny yells back, and turns to say goodbye.

When he looks back, he sees the blush on Malia's face, the way she has eyes for no one but Chin, and thinks, _Ah._ He suddenly sees the 'going as a group to the dance' thing in a whole new light.

The second half of the game is just as exciting as the first. Danny narrows his eyes against the glare of the sun and squints at the field for all he's worth, following Steve's every move, wincing at the inevitable fumble, yelling himself hoarse with the rest of the audience when Steve scores yet another touchdown.

They win the game comfortably, and the team is triumphant in their jubilation, the obligatory chest thumps and hits on the helmets. At one point Steve gets hoisted up, breathless with laughter and cheering, and Danny lets his eyes linger for a moment, one last time when everyone's too distracted to pay any attention to what feels like the most obvious crush in the universe.

Steve spots him and jumps off his teammates' shoulders, running up to Danny and just beaming at him for a length of time that Danny completely blanks. He can't tear his eyes away from Steve's flushed face, drops of sweat training down his temple and dripping off the edge of his jaw, hazel eyes dancing with victory.

And then the rest of their group is there, and Steve gets lost under a pile of bodies as everyone throws themselves on him in celebration. Joseph trots up, and Danny claps his shoulder in congratulations. Joseph grins at him, just as sweaty and delicious-looking as Steve, and he's staring at Danny intently, but Danny just can't bring himself to do anything about it. The truth is, there's no one else for him on this island than the idiot wheezing with giggles in the middle of the group hug.

His eyes have drifted to Steve again without a conscious thought. When Danny looks back at Joseph, there's a knowing look in his eyes that says that while the rest of them have no idea what to look for, Joseph sure as hell does, and he knows exactly what he's seeing. Danny doesn't know what his face must look like -- he feels pretty panicked, so it's anyone's guess -- but Joseph shakes his head a little with a rueful smile, as if to say, 'your secret's safe with me', and Danny can just about breathe again.

"Party at Ailani's tonight," Meka tells him when he's extricated himself from the mess of limbs still on the ground. "You in?"

Yeah, no. No way is he going to Ailani's actual house, not when the girl clearly hates him. "No, man. I got other plans," he says, and ignores Steve's crestfallen look. He's not budging on this one, no matter what Steve says.

It would give him a chance to talk to Matty, at least.

\---

There's only silence when he knocks on Matty's door a few hours later, but Danny can hear someone moving inside the bathroom next door, the whizz of some kind of machine inside.

"Matty?" Danny calls, knocking on the bathroom door again.

There is no answer, but the buzzing stops. The door opens a few minutes later, and Danny straightens from his slouch against the wall where he'd settled to wait. His jaw drops open when Matty steps out, stroking his newly shaved head.

"Like it?" Matty asks nastily, because he must know already that Danny really doesn't.

"Jesus, Matty," Danny sighs, and Matty scowls at him.

"What do you want?" Matty says lazily, like he couldn't care less. "I thought you were out partying with your _friends_ ," he sneers, brushing past Danny and going inside his room.

Danny follows, even though Matty pushes the door back, intending to close it. The room smells stale, like it's been days since the window had been open. His new clothes from Clara are in a tangle on the floor, clearly uncared for. Danny looks at the mess everywhere, and feels like crap that he hasn't managed to make Matty feel welcome here.

"I thought we could spend the evening together," he tries, but it's clearly too little too late.

"Oh yeah?" Matty sneers, bending down to grab a long-sleeved black shirt with _Suck me bitch_ in spiky white letters on the front. Danny has no idea where he even got that, let alone who paid for it. He's starting to think that maybe no one did. "Well, I've got other plans. Hanging out with _my_ friends."

"That bunch of scumbags? Matty, you can't be serious," Danny says, starting to get angry.

Matty's face is a picture of pure misery for a moment before it snaps back to the permanent sneer he seems to have adopted. It's so quick that Danny isn't even sure he saw it.

"Those 'scumbags' are _fun_ , okay, big brother? Something there's not a lot of around here."

"Look, Matty--" Danny tries, but Matty just shoves him out of the room and follows, snapping the door closed behind him. "Those guys are dangerous," Danny yells at him, anything to make Matty snap out of this--this act.

"You're one to talk," Matty says dangerously, and Danny freezes. "Oh, yeah. You thought I didn't know about that? Big brother Danny, perfect student by day, beating the crap out of people at night. Because it's different when _you_ do it, yeah?"

"It wasn't like that," Danny says, pleading.

"It was _exactly_ like that," Matty yells in his face, eyes narrowed in contempt. "But _I_ can't do it, because I'm not _you_? You _hypocrite_."

"At least they fought back," Danny yells back when Matty pushes past him. "I didn't gang up on anyone and beat the crap out of them because I could!"

Matty stops half-way down the stairs, head bowed. "Well, I guess I'm not you," he says quietly, and keeps walking.

Danny's legs give and he sits right where he is, fury and helplessness and despair tearing him to pieces from the inside out as he buries his head in his hands. He doesn't even realise someone else is there until Jimmy's said his name twice, right in his face; his arm snaps forward without conscious thought, and only Jimmy's lightning-fast reflexes save him from a broken nose.

Danny stares at his fist, horrified. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "Jimmy, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry--"

"Danny. Hey, hey, Danny, it's okay. Hey, look at me. It's okay. I'm sorry I startled you," Jimmy says, like he’s talking to a frightened animal, which is not very different from this particular setting. "That was my fault. Are you okay?"

Danny stares at him blankly, and he doesn't have the strength to keep his defences in place. "No," he says, shaking his head. "No, I don’t think I am."

"Okay," Jimmy says, "okay. Right. Put on your running shoes and come with me."

Danny doesn't question him, just walks in his wake meekly, does what he's told. He feels so lost that anyone else giving him directions is a relief.

"Sweetheart, we're going out," Jimmy yells in the direction of the kitchen, where Clara is roasting a joint of pork. "We'll be back in a few hours."

"Okay," Clara shouts back. Danny dimly thinks it must be nice to have a partner like that, who understands you without having to ask.

Like last time, Jimmy doesn't point him to the car; he leads the way to the road and starts jogging gently. Danny follows, and soon enough he realises just how damned much he's needed that, the simple rhythm of the pavement slapping against his soles, of yard after yard disappearing behind him.

He has no idea what direction they're running in, not until Jimmy makes a turn into a familiar driveway, and Danny realises he's at the McGarrett house. He falters for a moment, before he remembers Steve is out, having fun at the party, probably making out with Catherine to celebrate. The thought doesn't really make him feel any better.

John opens the door, takes one look at Danny and stands wordlessly aside. Jimmy walks past him with a quiet thanks. Danny doesn't say anything, but John doesn't seem to expect it.

"Can we use the back room, please, John?" Jimmy asks.

"Of course," John says.

Danny follows Jimmy through the kitchen, past a concerned-looking Laura cutting coloured paper at the kitchen table, through a doorway in the far wall. The room is small, and right in the centre of it a large sandbag hangs from a hook welded to the ceiling. It's the best thing Danny has seen all month.

A pair of light training gloves waver in his line of side. Danny grabs them, slips them on, and--

He comes to himself holding on to the sandbag, lungs heaving, absolutely _drenched_ in sweat, muscles weak and shaking from the exertion he's just put them through. His legs tremble when he pushes back, and he just manages to make it to the wall before he's sliding down it in a heap of limbs and exhaustion.

His mind is a blissful blank. It's been so long, _so fucking long_ , god, how had he survived so long without it? He closes his eyes, leans his head back, trying to catch his breath, and never wants to move again.

"Danny," he hears from the door, and he's so loose and relaxed he just rolls his head towards the voice. Jimmy's walking towards him, holding out a large bottle of water in his direction. "Drink. You've lost a lot of fluids."

Now that Jimmy mentions it, Danny feels the dehydration painting black splotches in the corners of his vision, and his stomach cramps at the thought of water. He takes the bottle from Jimmy's hands greedily, uncaps it and tilts it up into his mouth, drinking a third of it in one go.

Once he no longer feels like passing out, he looks up at Jimmy, at John hovering anxiously at the door. "Thank you," he says earnestly. "Thank you, I--I really needed that."

"Any time," John says, eyes running over Danny's sprawled body to make sure he's okay. "I mean it. Steve comes here to train, too; if you ask him, I'm sure he'd be happy to spar with you."

Danny's never been more grateful to be so tired out -- he doesn't even have the strength to blush, which is a small mercy, especially in the company of two shrewd cops, one of whom is his uncle and the other his hopeless crush's father. He would _die_ of embarrassment.

Jimmy borrows John's car to drive them home, promising to be back to pick him up for work in the morning. Danny climbs inside gratefully, slumping in the seat. John and Laura wave them off from the front porch, holding hands. It's kind of sweet. Danny remembers his mom and dad doing that, when she'd still been with them.

Jimmy drives silently; it's less than five minutes to their house, so Danny doesn't have time to feel too awkward about his mini-breakdown. Jimmy parks behind his own truck and turns off the engine, but makes no move to get out of the car. Danny braces himself for whatever reproach is coming.

"You can't let it get to you like that," is what Jimmy says instead. "Clara tells me you want to be a cop; well, here's lesson one, kiddo -- you have to learn to distance yourself from the cases. I understand that Matthew's your brother, and you can't separate your love for him from your actions, or the way you see him; but Danny, you can't lose yourself like that, either. You have to create this space inside of you, where you can put all your emotions and all your pain, and lock it away until you're through the case, or the problem. If you want to use boxing to do that, fine. In fact, excellent. It'll look great on your CV when you apply for the Academy. Just remember that you can't change anything; you can just be there for Matthew when it all goes down in flames, which is pretty much inevitable. You have to let him make a few mistakes too, Danny; how else will he learn?"

Danny squeezes his eyes shut. Jimmy's right; he knows it, knew what Jimmy was saying even before he said it. It's not gonna be easy, but hell, he's got no choice but to try.

\---

He doesn't see much of Steve or Catherine for the next week; as part of the student government, they are ridiculously busy getting the Homecoming Dance set up. Catherine still hasn't said anything as to what she wanted to talk about at the game, and Danny feels a little like he's drifting. Baseball practice is the only thing keeping him going right now, even though he won't actually get to play for months yet, seeing how it is still mid-October.

He can get lost in the game, though, much like he gets lost in boxing. Following the ball with his eyes, bouncing on the balls of his feet, just waiting to tag the direction it flies off in, working out his reaction time and them running as fast as his legs would take him in the direction of the base, the wind ruffling his hair lovingly as he pushes and pushes forward.

As it is, he really could do with having to go to practice. Right about now would be _perfect_ , because it would mean he could stop slowly torturing his brain to death with AP Chemistry, something he is very quickly starting to regret ever considering taking. On top of everything, his stomach feels swollen, upset, like he's eaten something he really shouldn't. He _knew_ he should have given that spaghetti bolognese a miss at the cafeteria; but no, they remind him of home, of New Jersey in the winter, never mind that they'd tasted nothing like his mom used to make.

All in all, not an ideal way to spend the Wednesday before the Homecoming Dance, but Mrs Kahele is an evil, evil being who had decided to schedule their monthly quiz for tomorrow, even if she is allowing them to work in pairs.

His stomach has stopped cramping, but he's still feeling a lot less human when there's a knock on the front door. He's sprawled all over the sofa in the living room, papers littering the space in a five foot radius all around him, and frankly, he just can't be bothered to get the hell up and answer the door. Luckily, Amy is _an angel_ who is home from school early, and he hears her light steps in the corridor.

He quickly revises his estimate of Amy when she ushers Steve around the corner and into the living room, a sly, devious smile on her face. "Danny, Steve's here for you," she tells him, sing-song, while she winks at him behind Steve's back.

There should be a law against your own siblings knowing you better than they should. Amy knows he's been--not sulking, because Danny does not _sulk_ , but certainly not up to his usual high standards of cheer, and it appears she's guessed the reason.

Oh course, that might be something to do with Danny grumbling to her about Steve being too busy with the damned Dance to spend any time with his friends, but that's beside the point.

"Steve, huh," he grumbles. Of course, _of course_ Steve would pick the one time Danny could _really_ do without him coming round to see him all splotchy and under the weather, to insert himself back in Danny's personal space.

"I came about the quiz thing," Steve says, all serious and solemn and Head Science Geek about it, before he frowns. "You okay?"

Danny waves a hand dismissively. "Ate something I shouldn't have-- _don't_ say a word, Steven, I know that look, and I've told you a million times, eating wholegrain everything cannot be good for you."

Steve snaps his mouth closed and glares. "Yet you're the one who's sick, while I'm the picture of health."

"Physical health, maybe," Danny lobs back, and he can't for the life of him stop himself from trailing an appreciative eye down Steve's undeniably picturesque body.

When he looks back up, Steve is watching him oddly, looming over him where Danny still sprawls over the cushions.

"Fuck's sake, sit, my neck hurts from craning to see you all the way up there," Danny grouches, waving a hand at the spare armchair.

Steve completely ignores him, pushing Danny's legs off one end of the sofa and throwing himself onto it. Danny immediately swings his feet back up, depositing them in Steve's lap with possibly unnecessary force. Steve grunts a little, but doesn't push him off. It's kind of nice.

Danny ends up with papers stacked over his legs, watching Steve slip that lucky, _lucky_ pencil in and out of his mouth, chewing on the end. Danny shuffles the papers over his chest until most of them end up in his lap.

"So," Steve says, attention absorbed by learning how to blow things up at will. "A 140.0g sample of water at 25.0 degrees Celsius is mixed with 100.0g of an unknown metal at 100.0 degrees Celsius. The final temperature of the mixture is 29.6 degrees Celsius. What is the heat capacity of the metal?"

Danny settles down to work with a resigned huff.

It takes him a surprisingly long time to get sick of the damned quiz. "Time out, _time out_ , fuck, McGarrett, how can you still keep going, it's been an hour of non-stop torture, Jesus, you are a _robot_. Let's take a break, yeah?"

Steve looks pained, but relents. Probably bad form of Danny to stop him while he's having so much fun, but Danny's brain is going to blow if it doesn't have a ten minute break to decompress. He sighs gratefully and lets his head rest back onto the arm of the sofa while he stretches, heels digging into Steve's thighs. He should probably be worried he finds that so hot, but touching any part of Steve can send him into flames on the best of days.

The fire alarm in the kitchen goes off mid-stretch, and Danny ignores yet another strange look on Steve's face in favour of stopping the house from burning down. He hightails it off the sofa and rounds the corner at a jog.

Amy looks sheepish from her spot by the deep fryer. "I forgot to put the lid on," she confesses. "Sorry for interrupting, Danno."

Danny sighs, leaning on the counter next to her. "It's okay, babe. We were just about to take a break anyway."

Amy looks at him knowingly, like she knows she's just saved him from imminent brain melt. Danny ignores her, staring at the deep fryer and then back at Amy.

"Are you making..." he trails off, which of course she is, she can't be bribed anywhere near the fryer for anything other than deep-fried mozz balls, even though Danny's the only person who eats them, now that mom's gone. His heart does a funny squeezy-flip kind of a thing as he watches Amy avoid his eyes.

"You weren't feeling well, so I thought..." she hedges, throwing him a quick look under her eyelashes.

Danny can't help himself -- he catches her shoulders and draws her closer, folds himself around her until her forehead is leaning on his chest and his head rests on top of hers. She slips her thin arms around him, tightens them a little, burrows closer.

They stay like that for a while, until Danny hears a shuffling sound at the door and finds Steve standing there, looking unsure. Danny smiles at him encouragingly, and Steve settles his shoulder on the door frame, content to wait.

"You want some help?" Danny asks Amy when he lets her go, desperate to get rid of the damned quiz, but not so eager to get rid of his self-imposed quiz partner.

"Only when you're done," Amy says sternly, giving him a Look.

Danny sees Steve smirking from the doorway, and rolls his eyes. "Okay, god, _fine_ ," he grumbles, going to fetch the over mitts for her. "At least put these on until I'm here, just in case," he instructs while he rummages inside the cupboard by the dishwasher.

He turns to see Steve watching Amy curiously as she dries each ball of cheese, dips it into a bowl of flour, then inside the egg-and-milk mixture, and then rolls it in breadcrumbs before repeating the step with the other balls. He watches the batch she lifts out of the fryer with a deeply suspicious look on his face. His expression speaks clearly that he wants to say something stupid and misguided about the heaven that is deep-fried mozz balls.

"Do not even start, Captain Health Food," Danny advises, shooting him a warning glance.

Steve looks away from the mozz balls like they offend him on a level Danny cannot even comprehend, and turns to Danny with a smile of such affection that it knocks the breath out of him.

"I can come back tonight," Steve offers, with the air of making a huge concession, which, okay, spending another hour on the properties of food dye is unfounded, and also, offensive to Danny's bullshit-o-meter.

"What the hell, it's _food dye_ , it's not curing world hunger, nor making anything explode in a ball of flames. Who cares what the hell makes it _red_ , I don't even, who on this green rock in the middle of the ocean needs to know how to turn pineapple red, I just, this is too much."

Steve looks like he wants to say, 'nevertheless', in that Good Boy voice of his, and the set of his jaw and the slant of his eyebrows disabuse Danny of the notion he can win this one.

"Why do I even know you," Danny groans, slumping on the nearest chair at the kitchen table.

Amy pats him consolingly on the back, lips bitten together like she does when she's trying not to laugh in his face, and sets a plate of perfectly fried mozz balls in front of him, along with a bowl of homemade tomato sauce. Danny sighs, rubs his face, and looks at her.

"You are a national treasure, have I ever told you that, Amy, sweetheart. I love you so much."

"Love you too, Danno," Amy chirps, winking at him and shoving Steve in the chair next to him. "You're not going anywhere, Steve. Clara has some wholemeal bread in the pantry; would you like a ham sandwich while Danny clogs his arteries?"

"Yes please," Steve says, looking at her with so much love in his eyes that Danny glares irrationally down at his mozz balls, like it's their fault Steve has never looked at _him_ like that.

Danny's still not switching to wholemeal anything for him, and that's that.

Steve never does manage to get Danny stuck back into the quiz prep; as soon as he starts making noises about getting back to work, the doorbell goes. This time Danny pads to the door himself, opening it to find Catherine on the other end, smiling winsomely at him.

"Catherine," Danny says instead of greeting, leaning on the door jamb. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Catherine grins. "We left a conversation unfinished the other night, and since the Dance is tomorrow, I figured we should get a few things clear beforehand, so there's no misunderstandings."

Danny lets her in, resigned to the house getting invaded by--what was the word? Kama' something? Natives, in any case. Complete with weird little customs like that hang loose sign that gets right up Danny's nose.

"Cath? What are you doing here?" Steve stands behind him when Danny turns, looking suspicious.

"Me and Danny, we've a conversation to finish. You are welcome to stay, of course, seeing as you're the topic."

"Catherine!"

It takes Danny a moment to realise he and Steve have spoken together. Catherine is grinning at them with every evidence of smug satisfaction. Steve and Danny stare at each other.

"In the living room, I think?" Catherine adds, turning smartly on her heel and leading the way like she owns the place.

Danny and Steve slump onto the sofa, still staring at her.

"Okay," she says, clasping her hands together in her lap. "Steve. Danny thinks you and I are dating."

Steve splutters, appearing to choke on thin air. Danny stares at him in shock. In all the time he's known Steve, he's never been this ungraceful.

"Danny," Catherine calls his attention back. "Listen. Steve and I are not dating. Steve has rather... different requirements of his dates."

Danny notices Steve glaring at her, making cut-throat actions like it could get her to stop talking. She just smiles at him. "I'm helping here, McGarrett, don't interrupt."

"What do you mean, different? Different how?" Danny asks, eyes flitting between her and Steve.

"Like having a cock," Catherine says bluntly. It's Danny's turn to choke. "I think you'll agree that I'm kind of lacking in that department."

When Danny looks at him, Steve has gone bright red, but as he watches, the blood drains from Steve's face when he turns to face him, looking for some reason pants-wettingly terrified. And then Danny's brain comes back online, and he works out why.

"Steve. Steven. Hey. It's okay. I'm not going to tell anyone," Danny tells him, trying to stop him from having what looks like a stroke.

"I don't think that's what he's worried about," Catherine hints, raising her eyebrows.

"Oh, what, you think I'm going to run off, is that it? That would be pretty hypocritical of me, all things considered."

"Finally," Catherine sighs, standing up. "Well, my work here is done. Try not to fuck up again, Steve, really, it's not rocket science -- although something tells me you'd find it easier if it was."

She blows them a kiss and waves as she heads out of the room. They both hear the front door click, but neither looks away from the other.

"What did she mean, 'don't fuck up again'?" Danny asks, watching Steve's eyes intently while Steve tries to look anywhere but at him. "And why is she telling _me_ all that stuff about you preferring--"

There's a red tinge to the part of Steve's face Danny can see, and his hands are squeezing together so tight in his lap that that his fingers are white from the pressure, and Danny must be some kind of idiot, because he had not seen that coming _at all_.

"Steve," he says gently, reaching over and prying one of his hands away from its tight clutch of the other. Steve looks down at his hand held snugly between Danny's, then lifts his eyes to Danny's face, hope and trepidation warring in his eyes. Danny smiles reassuringly, tightening his hold and rubbing a thumb over the back of Steve's hand, trying to look as encouraging and non-threatening as possible.

And then Steve's leaning forward, and his face is filling Danny's line of sight, and his eyelashes flutter to spread over his cheekbone, so thick and long that Danny kind of wants to count each and every one of them. Steve's breath floats over Danny's lips, warm and humid, and his other hand is slipping tentatively over the back of Danny's neck, touch so soft that Danny thinks he might be imagining it for a second.

The first brush of their lips makes Danny's stomach jump, pools warmth low in his body, makes his heart beat triple-time in his chest, makes him let out a harsh exhale into Steve's mouth. Danny presses closer awkwardly on the old-style velvet sofa, every movement a struggle except for that of his mouth, opening for Steve at the first shy touch of his tongue. Danny shivers; he can't help it, the moan that falls from Steve's throat is like a spark to dry tinder.

A loud crash coming from the kitchen make them spring apart like a bucket of cold water thrown over them. Danny licks his lips; they feel too warm, a little bruised, certainly reddened, if Steve's are anything to go by. Steve's hair sticks out a little from where Danny wormed his hand into it; his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright and there's so much wonder and longing in them that Danny honestly can't draw breath for a moment.

Another crash from the kitchen and Danny's on his feet, irritation and elation and concern simmering inside him. He trails a hand over Steve's shoulder when he passes, because now that Steve's given him tacit permission to touch (and that kiss had better be one, or Danny is _not_ going to be happy), he can't for the life of him stop. He feels the tension melting from Steve's frame at the casual, intimate touch, and he feels like his insides are melting, buzzing with excitement and arousal.

He finds Amy biting her lips and trying to fit a huge metal pot inside a second-level cupboard, balancing precariously on top of one of the kitchen chairs. He's over there in a flash, steadying the wobbling surface. She glances down gratefully and does a double-take when she sees Danny's face. Her lips form a silent "Oh"; she's always been way sharper than either him or Matty, despite being so much younger.

"I thought your friend left," she offers, stepping down and watching him carefully.

"She did," Danny says, and realises way too late that he'd had a perfect opportunity to throw her off the scent of him and Steve, but obviously his brain must have been too addled by _that kiss_ to take advantage.

Amy's eyes are as wide as saucers, and Danny feels a spike of fear burst his befuddled bubble. "I mean--" he tries to correct himself, but it's way too late now; Amy's staring at him, blinking, looking like she's trying to reconcile her Danny to this version of him before her now. Oh god, if his sister hates him because he's into guys, Danny thinks he might just cry. It's the one thing he's most terrified of, he realises only now that there's a real chance it might come to pass.

They stare at each other helplessly, and Danny tries to read her eyes, her face, her thoughts, but for once his famed intuition fails him completely.

"Amy," he says, in a voice so small and scared that he barely recognises it.

Amy opens her mouth, shakes her head, and Danny 's heart drops through his chest to lodge somewhere around the soles of his feet. Oh god, what has he done?

But then Amy is launching forward, hugging him straight through the middle, her head only coming up to his sternum, burying itself in his chest.

"I love you, Danno," Amy says, squeezing hard. "Please stop looking at me like that."

Danny closes his arms around her, pulling her into him and squeezes his eyes tight as tears of relief threaten to spill. They stand like that for a while, until for the second time that day there's a shuffle in the doorway. Danny looks up to see Steve staring at them, fear in his own eyes, like he's only just realising all the possible implications of what they're doing. Danny wants to draw him into a hug, too, but Steve looks ready to bolt, and Danny feels his stomach turn to lead. If this is Steve freaking out, he doesn't think he could bear it without something breaking forever inside him.

Amy lets go, pulls back and notices Steve for the first time. She looks very serious when she walks up to him and pats his arm.

"I won't tell anyone, Steve. I promise."

Danny wonders if she even understands what that means to Steve, to him, what this thing coming to life between them even is, but Amy, god, he loves her so _fiercely_ , his little guardian angel.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he says. "It's not that we're ashamed of it," he hurries to add, seeing Steve's face. "It's just that people might not understand."

"Well, that's stupid," Amy decides, in a way only an 11-year-old can. "You like Steve and Steve likes you. It's easy."

'If only,' Danny thinks even as he smiles at her.

\---

He stands by the far end of the school gym, sliding a nervous hand down his good shirt, fiddling with the tie he'd borrowed from Jerry, a nice silver to offset the charcoal grey of the silk shirt. Clara had fixed it for him with eyes a few shades brighter than normal, and he'd pretended not to notice when she'd wiped her cheek discreetly while he was fiddling with his hair. It had grown much longer than the buzz he usually favours, and he'd had to slick it back over the top of his head. He kind of likes it.

He spots Malia in the distance, hanging on Keoki's arm as she makes it across the grass in higher heels than usual. Danny raises a hand in greeting and she smiles at him, making a beeline in his direction.

"Hi!" she says, kissing his cheek. "So glad you could make it, Danny!"

"Couldn't stay away," he says back wryly -- which is true; Meka had insisted he pick up Danny and drive him over, to make sure he didn't back out.

He still hasn't seen Steve, but Steve had made vague noises about picking up Catherine on his way, so Danny expects to see them here soon enough. He's kind of maybe a little bothered by Steve's insistence they meet here; hiding behind his best (girl)friend would not be too much of a surprise for Danny.

In fact, he might have spent the time since Steve left the afternoon before until right this minute trying to steel himself for the inevitable "Look, Danny" speech. Steve is the most popular guy in their year, a star football player, smart as all get out -- the list goes on and on. There is _no way_ he would ever come out, and not for an angry blond Jersey shortstop at any rate. And then there's the issue with Matty, and fuck, that stings most of all, to know that something he has no control over could be the drop that tips the bucket in his disfavour.

He'd just been coming out of his English class yesterday when he'd heard Steve's furious voice, rising from the open passageway that lead to the rest of the grounds.

"...Only reason I'm not sending you to the Principal’s office is your brother, but pull one more stunt like that and you'll be in there faster than you can say your name."

And then what felt like his heart being cleaved in two; his brother's voice, sneering once again. "Fuck my brother. What are you, some kind of faggot?"

Danny had turned around and walked away as fast as his shaking legs could carry him, heart beating so fast he thought it would choke him right there in the corridor.

So the flock of pterodactyls is back in his stomach, and this time they brought friends. Surely Steve had changed his mind. Why else would he be picking Catherine up first, and insisting they should meet here? The thought is like a spike to Danny's chest, making him feel sick with dread. He couldn't blame Steve if he had, though.

A sudden commotion across the quad has the three of them turning to look, and there they are: Steven and Catherine, best looking couple in the school, her in a knee-length royal blue chiffon dress and him in his freshly awarded letter jacket. They look so glamorous Danny wants to cry with despair.

He watches miserably as they draw closer, both of them beaming, her hand curling through his arm in a gesture that screams of shared intimacy, of coupledom.

Catherine's disclosure feels like years away. And of course, _Steve_ , who in their right mind would pass on _that_?

"Danny," Steve calls, breaking away from Catherine's side and coming to stand in front of him.

Danny tries to smile, but his heart feels too small and his chest feels too tight and all he wants to do is run away and hide for the rest of the year. Catherine doesn't look upset, though, merely benevolent. Danny can't make sense of them, at all. He looks up slowly into Steve's face, into eyes smiling fondly. Steve starts looking worried after a minute of standing there while Danny says nothing, just looks at him.

"Everything okay?" Steve says, looking around, like he could find the source of Danny's unhappiness.

Danny braces himself. "Just say it," he demands, looking at Steve's chin, because it takes more courage than he has to look into Steve's eyes and listen to him telling Danny how he's with Catherine now.

Steve looks confused. "Say what?" he asks, genuinely baffled.

"Come on, Steve," Danny mocks, lowering his voice. "You know what I'm talking about. You can't possibly want to still..." he trails off. He can't say it, not while his failure tastes like ashes in his mouth.

"Want to what? Danny, what are you talking about?"

"Look, I heard you scolding Matthew yesterday. I heard what he said to you. It's not good for you to be seen with me too much, people will start talking."

Steve's expression clears, and Danny is not at all expecting the roll of his eyes, or the gentle smile on his lips. "Danny Williams," Steve says, smile widening until there's a flash of teeth from between his lips. "You are worth all the talk in the world. Now get inside that gym before I carry you there."

Danny gapes at him, stunned. "You wouldn't," he says when he finds his voice, daring to hope again.

"Try me," Steve says dangerously, eyes heavy-lidded as he looks at Danny, lips curved in a challenging smirk. He would, too, Danny realises. He starts grinning.

An hour later, he's not grinning at all. He's bent in two, laughing his ass off, because there Steve is on the dancefloor, dancing with Malia -- well. 'Dancing' is being charitable. He's _gyrating_ , looking more like a baby giraffe, all elbows and knees, moving to a rhythm that would have had him committed in another time and place.

"Is he always--" Danny gasps, wiping away a stray tear of mirth.

"Oh yeah," Catherine says, grinning broadly. "He was worse in fourth grade, if it's any consolation," she adds. "And I'm pretty sure he's not _this_ uncoordinated between the sheets."

"Well, that's to be hoped for," Danny giggles, high on the thought that he might actually be allowed to find out. "Though I can't actually see how this could possibly be any _worse_."

"Trust me on this one," Catherine advises, affecting a shudder.

Just then Steve hops up to them, happy and sweaty and dishevelled, looking so gorgeous Danny wants to pull him down and kiss him, and never stop. He whips his letter jacket off his back, throwing it over Danny's shoulders.

"Here, keep this safe for me, Danno," he grins devilishly as Danny struggles with the heavy, damp fabric, glaring at Steve.

"What are you doing?" he hisses, straining to be heard over the music. "People will see!"

"Oh yeah?" Steve's grin sharpens, showing far too many teeth. "And _what_ will they see?"

Danny splutters, hands fisting in the red-and-white jacket. It smells like Steve, and Danny is hard-pressed not to bury his face in it and breathe him in.

"They'll see that you're _mine_ ," Steve growls, shifting closer until they're toe to toe, looming over Danny with his damned 6'' height advantage that Danny does not find hot, _not at all, really_.

"O-kay, back off, Caveman," Danny grumbles, pushing him back until Danny can breathe again. His dress pants feel tight, worse still when Danny can feel Steve's muscles jumping against his palm, when Steve sways into his touch. "Right. We're getting out of here."

"Yeah?" Steve looks thrilled.

"Yeah. Hey, Catherine, you coming?"

"Uh, _no_!" she says, raising her eyebrow. "Not that I don't think you boys look ridiculously good together, but honestly, you think I want to watch my surrogate brother get it on with his beefcake boyfriend?"

Danny splutters again. "Beefcake?" he squeaks, not as manfully as he'd hoped. Steve flushes bright red, to the roots of his hair. "Beefcake, seriously?"

Catherine laughs, throwing Steve a wink. "Go away, you two, you're cramping my style. Patrick over there looks lonely," she says, pointing out the captain of the basketball team. At least she has some chance to match his height, Danny thinks, scowling.

Steve nudges his shoulder and nods at the door.

"Okay, okay, jeez, you'll get yours, big guy, don't worry," Danny bitches, waving distractedly at Malia, who is staring at the two of them with a thoughtful look on her face.

Steve gives up any semblance of patience and starts prodding Danny in the shoulder until he gets moving. Danny considers planting his feet; see how far McGarrett can move him when he doesn't _want_ to be moved; but that would just be him cockblocking himself, so he relents.

The air outside is cool on his flushed skin, and he lifts his face into it gratefully. Steve stands shoulder to shoulder with him, looking up at the darkening sky.

"Where do you want to go?" Steve says, nudging him.

"Not the beach," Danny shoots back, and Steve looks down, making a face at him.

"I swear I don't get your beach phobia. Who doesn't like the beach?!"

"Me, I don't like the beach. I like cities, skyscrapers, tarmac."

"Tarmac, huh," Steve says, thoughtful.

"Okay, what is that look?" Danny demands.

"What look?" Steve blinks at him innocently.

"The one that's on your face, that look. I don't like it. Something tells me that look is not a fun look."

"It is too a fun look," Steve pouts.

"It's a look that brings to mind handguns and grenades," Danny insists, crossing his arms over his chest.

" _Grenades_? Danny--"

"Don't 'Danny' me, the last time I saw that look you asked me to go running with you up a damned mountain."

"It was only the park, I just thought it would be fun, but fine, no running."

"And now you're pouting. He's pouting. Why are you pouting?"

"I'm not pouting, I just don't understand how you think I'd take you somewhere dangerous, Danny. I thought you'd like it, it's green, it has nice plants, lots of grass."

"Why are we talking about the park again?" Danny asks, throwing his hands in the air, one of them still clutching the infamous letter jacket.

Steve stays silent, staring mulishly into the distance. Danny sighs, put-upon. Such high maintenance, his goof.

"Okay, all right, I apologise for insinuating you couldn't be fun. Tell me, Steven, of your plan for tonight. Where would you like to go?"

Steve sulks for a moment longer, then throws Danny a look. "I was going to suggest going for a drive."

"A drive, huh?" Danny considers. It's still fairly early, the air is just starting to lose the day's heat; a drive sounds _perfect_. "All right. I can get behind that idea."

And it is nice, Danny thinks, enclosed in the passenger seat of Steve's truck, watching the scenery pass by as they head higher and higher above the island. Eventually they come to a wider shoulder on the side of the road that overlooks the island, watching the city sprawl under them in all its glittering glory. Noise barely filters up here, and they're surrounded by the sounds of the night, creatures buzzing, chirping, crying out into the darkness. The crickets are so loud, Danny can barely hear himself think when Steve shuts off the engine and leans back. The black mass of the ocean takes up all the space to the horizon, a faint stripe of light to the west the only hint as to directions. The road behind them is quiet, but Danny spots another car not far off, and okay, he's not an idiot, he can guess what this place serves as most nights. He finds he doesn't care in the slightest, not when Steve is sitting next to him, relaxed and twitchy at the same time.

Steve makes a strangled sound in his throat when Danny thinks 'fuck it', leans over and kisses him, fits his mouth over Steve's and asks to be let inside. It's wet, and sloppy, and the angle is all wrong because Steve is too freakishly tall for it to be comfortable when he's just sitting there, but god, it's _so good_ Danny reels from the pleasure, the need.

And then there are hands in his hair, and Steve is tilting his head, pushing him back and following, and suddenly sensation explodes in Danny's stomach, the feel of Steve hot, solid, right next to him and squirming closer, and Danny is overwhelmed with wanting _more_.

He leans back against the side door, slides down the seat until Steve is nearly lying on top of him, one knee crammed against the steering wheel and one mashed between Steve's hips and the edge of the seat, and fuck, it's uncomfortable, but Danny never wants it to stop.

Something out of place pokes at the edge of his hip, and he realises with a dizzying rush of need that it's Steve's cock, hard against him, rubbing little circles into the crease between Danny's thigh and groin. His legs fall open of their own volition, and he tugs Steve down by his shoulders, kissing him like he's starving and Steve is a delicious feast laid out just for him.

Steve grunts into the kiss, and it takes Danny a moment to realise it wasn't a grunt of pleasure. He pushes Steve back a little, just enough to break the kiss, but not so far that he'd have to stop touching him.

"What is it?" Danny asks, and barely recognises his own voice, heavy with arousal, rumbling in a way Danny had never heard himself before.

"'S nothing," Steve mutters, voice just as gone, but Danny notices the way he favours his elbow.

"Christ, this is ridiculous," Danny scoffs with as much anger as he can muster under the circumstances.

Steve looks hurt when Danny shoves him away for real this time and opens the door of the truck; he slumps dejectedly in his seat, until Danny opens the back door and quirks a suggestive eyebrow. Steve grins and scrambles to get out of the front seat, climbing quickly in the back and pulling Danny towards him again. Danny goes happily, plasters himself over Steve's lean frame, fits their hips together until they both groan into the kiss from the feel of it.

Danny ruts helplessly against Steve, quick jerks of the hips that line him up with Steve's heavy bulge in his own dress pants. He feels the faintly questioning tug on his waistline, and hurries to help, pushing aside belts and buttons and zips and underwear until there's only skin between them, and he's staring at Steve's cock, naked and flushed, twitching a little in the cool air. Steve squirms under Danny's scrutiny, pulls him back down until their cocks rub together, and _oh god_ , why had no one ever told Danny it could feel like _this_ , like there was no oxygen in the air, like the planet was burning up and they were right in the middle of it, drowning in each other's mouths, hands clutching desperately on shoulders and hips and backs.

Danny whines in the back of his throat when Steve bites at his lower lip, a little too sharply, too far gone for any kind of control. Danny pants in his mouth, hips jerking, smooth, slick skin sliding together, and no, Jesus, no, he can't hold on, oh god, he has to, oh, oh--

He blanks out for a little while, body tight and straining through his release, fingers digging into Steve's hips as he grunts and yells a little, enough for Steve to seal their lips together and swallow the sounds, keep them between them, quiet and secret and theirs. Danny feels wetness over his groin and stomach, and doesn't realise it's not just his until Steve throws his head back and stifles a moan in his throat, hands going lax over Danny's back, sliding off to rest against his sides. He's so beautiful like that, flushed and spent, chest heaving as he sucks in the humid air between the two of them, tongue probing over the lip Danny bit a little overenthusiastically, flicking back into his mouth.

They lie there and catch their breaths, cocks growing soft between them, still pressed together like that's where they belong. Danny wants to smack himself for the sappy thoughts, but since this is his first shared orgasm, he's just too loose and languid, and the impulse for violence appears greatly tempered by just how damn comfortable he's feeling, lying on top of Steve with his face buried in his neck.

Danny thinks he might understand what the big deal about sex is.

\---

Danny gives up in the second week of December. He's done fighting it. He _likes_ it here. Okay, so the beach is still annoying, that's not going to change any time soon, but the rest of it -- the balmy weather, the sweet-smelling air, the colours, it's all a kaleidoscope of moments that make him feel, if not at home, at least like he's having a good time.

He suspects it's not really because of the island, though. No, it has much more to do with a certain person who has shoehorned himself into Danny's life, clung in there like a barnacle on the hull of a ship, and refused to let go. More and more often, Danny finds himself wishing he never has to. This place is all well and good, and the girls love it here, but for Danny there's only one thing that makes the island feel like a home, someplace he can put down roots, stick around for a while.

Said thing is currently lounging across Danny's bed, staring mournfully at him putting on his baseball training gear.

"Seriously, you have to stop looking at me like that," Danny grumbles, shooting Steve a nasty look. I never pouted when you had practice; the least you could do is return the favour!"

Steve frowns, a small line appearing in the middle of his eyebrows. In his sappier moments, Danny allows himself to imagine what that line would look like in twenty years' time. He's kind of looking forward to finding out.

Steve rolls over and plants his chin over his folded arms, narrowing his eyes on Danny's gear. "But I'm going to be bored," he wheedles, sticking out his lower lip childishly. It absolutely does not make Danny want to kiss him.

"Go for a 10 mile swim, go leap tall buildings in a single bound, go run over a mountain, I don't know, something, you adrenaline junkie. I'll be done in two hours, and then, if you're still so bored, you could come pick me up. We'll go catch a movie or something. Sound good?"

Steve perks up. Danny rolls his eyes, fastening the cup in place, avoiding Steve’s eyes – he doesn’t have the time to get distracted now. "Right. I have to go. Come on, you." He prods Steve off his bed, mercilessly ignoring his heartfelt protests that Steve's comfortable, and the bed smells like Danny. "Up up up. The sooner we go, the faster practice will be over."

Steve gets up slowly, like it's a terrible imposition, but follows Danny downstairs docilely enough. Danny's just tugging on his sneakers when a horn blares outside: Meka's here.

"See you soon," Danny tells Steve, tugging him down for a quick kiss, avoiding Steve's sneaky long arms that try to keep him inside the house, and runs out of the door.

Practice is good, if uneventful, and Danny relishes the burn in his muscles as he pushes himself closer and closer to the goal. Meka blows his pitches a few times, so he's not in as good a mood as Danny when the coach calls time and the team heads off.

"Damn," Danny mutters when he spots the clock on the tower. They've overran by a little under 20 minutes, and he can just imagine how patiently Steve is waiting for him in the school's parking lot. "I gotta go," he calls to Meka, who's stripping off his shirt in disgust. "I'm meeting Steve."

"All right, brah. Let's go catch a movie tonight, yeah?"

"You got it! Popcorn's on me."

"Well, if you insist," Meka says gleefully, mood restored. "I'll try to restrain myself."

"Yeah, like that's gonna work," Danny says ruefully, shaking his head. Meka's smiling, though, so that's worth the extra ten bucks he's going to have to spend on corn.

He grabs his sweatshirt and runs out, circling behind the Arts building for a shortcut. He's not really looking where he's going, too eager to get to Steve, to see exactly how they can fill their time until they go meet Meka at the cinema. That's what he'll remember later, the tunnel vision as he rounds the corner at a jog and barrels head-first into a large Pacific Islander about twice his size and weight. Danny's got his mouth open to yell at him to watch where he's going when he looks behind to where the guy's just been, and freezes.

He hasn't really spoken to Matty much these past few weeks, too focused on Steve and this thing that's been growing almost organically between them. He does know that Matty hasn't changed his mind about the gang, though, so the sight of him, cigarette hanging from between his lips, eyes bloodshot and a little crazy, it shouldn't really be a surprise. But that's exactly what it is, and it's what's in front of Matty that has Danny seeing red.

They're sitting by a low concrete wall, a piece of cardboard propped on a few large rocks like a tabletop. Three white lines run over it, short, instantly recognisable, as is the rolled-up note in Matty's hand.

"What the fuck?" Danny growls, marching straight to Matty and ripping it out of his unsteady fingers. "Matthew Williams, what the hell do you think you're doing? Come on. We're leaving, right the fuck now."

Matty scowls up at him, takes a drag from the cigarette and blows the smoke in Danny's face. "Fuck off, Danny," he says, sneering.

"Who's this?" the guy sitting on Matty's right asks, narrowing his eyes on Danny's face. "You know this guy?"

There's a flash of something in Matty's eyes, something that Danny doesn't have time to understand before his vision blanks out at Matty's next words.

"No one," Matty says. "Just this loser friend of that class president motherfucker. Probably his boyfriend, come to think of it." His voice is ugly, and the twist of his mouth mirrors the wrenching twist in Danny's gut.

Matty's glaring at him, and there's a twitch to his eye that Danny should know, it means something, but he just can't think what, not with the roiling waves of hurt and anger making him dizzy. This has gone far enough. He gets that it's not been easy for Matty, but fuck it, it hasn't been easy for the rest of them, either.

"Fuck off," Matty says again, more urgently, eyes a little wide, flickering off to the side where the guy next to him is getting to his feet.

But Danny's too gone to think of what Matty's trying to tell him before he's the one sneering down at his brother. "Well, then. If I'm just some loser that you don't give a shit about, you won't mind if I break your pretty face, will you," he snarls, and swings.

The punch breaks Matty's nose cleanly, a spray of blood coating Danny's knuckles. As soon as he feels the warm flow over his hand, the mist of rage vanishes and he's left staring down at Matty in horror. Matty falls back, sluggish spurts of blood running out of his mangled nose, looking at Danny with huge eyes that make Danny want to cry. His little brother, the one he was supposed to look after and protect, and he'd just smashed his nose in.

"Oh god, Matty, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't--" he babbles, but it's too late.

There's hands gripping his shoulders, arms winding through his own and pulling them behind his back. The first punch lands on his left cheekbone, feels like he's run into a wall. At least the guy isn't wearing rings; they would have flayed the skin right off. It's the large guy he'd run into first, teeth bared in a snarl of hate, and worse, of pleasure. The next hit splits his lip, and his head snaps back, narrowly avoiding the face of the guy holding him still.

Danny struggles then; there's no way he's going to just sit back and take this, that's not who he is. He catches sight of Matty's horrified face behind the leader's shoulder, mouth open rounded, and he's repeating something over and over again. Danny can't hear him from the rush of blood in his head, though, adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream as a punch lands in his kidneys. There's four of them not including Matty, and they're all rolling up their sleeves and grinning. Danny realises with a flash of fear that there's no way he's getting out of this now, not until they're done with him.

He sees movement to the side, has no choice but to watch helplessly as Matty throws himself over the leader, trying to get him to stop, and the elbow he gets in his gut for his effort. The leader turns around and swings, huge palm connecting right over Matty's jaw, throwing him back. Matty might be taller than Danny, but he's nowhere near as bulky. He doesn't stand a change against a guy this size.

Which is when Danny snaps a little. He throws his weight back into the two guys holding him, uses the leverage to raise his legs and plant a solid kick right in the middle of the leader's chest. The guy falls back, choking for breath, and Danny uses _that_ leverage to flip out of the others' suddenly loosened hold. He turns around just in time to level one of them out with a punch in the face that literally spins the guy around. His friend growls and launches himself at Danny, who can only brace himself for the impact. The force of it bears him to the ground, but he manages to roll before the guy's punch lands in his kidney again. He flips up to his feet, just in time to catch the third guy's fist in the stomach and double over, choking on his own spit. He clocks Matty pushing himself up on all fours, shaking his head a little as if to clear it, and the fourth guy heading straight for him. He runs, and manages to throw himself on top of the bastard, rolling him away from Matty's shaking form. He lands a punch before guy number three drags him backwards off his friend, and throws him to the side.

Danny lands badly, right on the knee that still gives him trouble every now and again, and doesn't quite manage to stop the pained groan it rips out of him, nor the roll to take his weight off it. It's like blood in the water; the next kick lands square on his knee, and Danny howls this time, feeling something give. He hears a grunt from above, and there's Matty, flying through the air to land across his legs, wrenching his knee even worse.

Movement out of the corner of his eye, and he braces for the next hit -- but it never comes. Instead, he sees the guy to his left stagger and fall, and there's Steve, face wild, fist like the wrath of god colliding with the leader's face, splintering his nose. Blood sprays again, and the guy folds to his knees, clutching at it and howling. Then there's Meka, kicking asshole number two in the back of his knees, leaving him to fold to the ground. Then he's next to them, helping Matty off Danny's legs, and Danny can't help the keen of agony he lets out when Matty jars his fucked-up knee.

"Danny!" Steve yells, racing for him, falling to his knees by Danny's head and leaning over him, hands hovering like he wants to make sure Danny's okay but doesn't know where he can touch him. "Danny, talk to me. Where's the pain?"

"My knee," Danny grits out, and Steve's eyes immediately snap down. His hands follow, as gentle as he can make them, but Danny still screams as soon as Steve touches him, sending white-hot spikes of pain all the way through his leg.

Steve's face crumples and he snaps his hands back, saying "Okay, okay," over and over again, even though it's obvious he doesn't think it is.

"Steve, we have to call an ambulance. Steve!" Meka shouts next to them, and Steve's head whips around, gaze fixing on Meka.

"Ambulance. Right." He jumps to his feet and races off in the direction of the main school building.

Danny lies there and blinks at the sky, fists clenched by his side to avoid whimpering like some broken animal. The pain is vicious, even though his leg is stationary and no one's touching it. He doesn't need a doctor to tell him this is bad.

Someone falls to his knees next to him again, and he turns his head, expecting to see Steve, flushed and out of breath and desperately worried. Instead he's faced with Matty's tear-streaked face, bruise already blooming over his jaw, mouth and chin coated in drying blood.

"Stupid asshole," Matty chokes, and Danny has time to wince and prepare to beg his forgiveness when he feels Matty's hand clutching his wrist. "Why didn't you just leave? Fuck, Danny, I tried to make you leave!"

Danny thinks back to the look in Matty's eyes when he'd seen Danny, and of course _now_ he can see that Matty was trying to warn him off. Hindsight's a bitch.

"Jesus," Matty chokes, breathing through his mouth as he lifts a shaking hand to Danny's battered cheekbone. "Fuck." Danny tries not to flinch when Matty touches the aching skin, but Matty snatches his hand back anyway.

"Oh, Matty," Danny sighs, turning his hand to grip his brother's sweaty palm.

Matty just whimpers, squeezing his eyes closed. He clutches Danny's hand for dear life.

\---

Clara and Jimmy are at the hospital when he gets there. Clara's eyes are huge as she holds on to Jimmy's arm; Jimmy's lips are pressed together tight. They're both white-faced. As soon as they see him, Clara runs towards him, pressing a shaking hand to his forehead, eyes cataloguing his condition. Jimmy stands behind her, but he reaches over to pat Danny's shoulder, one of the few places that don't hurt.

He's rolled away before they can say a word, and his last glimpse of them is the two of them turning to face a shaking Matthew. He hopes to god they don't go postal on him.

"I'm very sorry to tell you that you've completely torn your ACL, my boy," The doctor says later, after all the tests and X-rays have been run, on the tail end of an excruciating examination after Danny has been left stewing anxiously for an hour in a small room. "You're going to need surgery."

Clara makes a small sound from her place by his head, but Danny can't look away from the doctor.

"It's a pretty common condition," the doc goes on reassuringly. "Provided it's treated well, and depending on the extent of the tear, it should heal fairly quickly. You won't be playing any more high school baseball this year though, kiddo, I'm sorry. It might feel fine, but the risk is high it might give out on you at a crucial moment of the game.

"You won't be able to put any weight on your leg for a while, and after the surgery you're going to have to do some physical therapy. You should be able to make a full recovery in good time, though, don't worry."

Jimmy thanks the doctor, because Danny's still reeling from the news and all his words have dried up. He feels Clara's hand on his shoulder, squeezing in silent support, but he can't make a move to respond. He doesn't know whether it's the good painkillers or the shock from hearing out loud what he'd suspected; it doesn't really matter, in the end.

The doctor slips out of the door and Matty slips inside in his place, a thick white strip taped over his nose. He stands there awkwardly until Danny waves him closer, tugs him to sit next to him on the bed. Danny looks him over; the damage isn't too bad, there's a few bruises and his nose will take a few weeks to heal completely, but overall he's pretty much unharmed. His eyes are still too large for his face, though, and he keeps looking anywhere but at Danny.

"I'm sorry about hitting you," Danny says at last.

"I'm sorry, too," Matty says, and Danny knows he means more than just what happened today.

Danny takes a deep breath. He doesn't know how this will go down, but if it means getting those wannabe gangsters out of the school, he doesn't feel he has a choice.

"I'm going to tell Jimmy what I saw," Danny says. Matty's eyes rise slowly to meet his, and to Danny's surprised relief there's something like pride there.

"I already told him," Matty says, looking terrified but determined. Jimmy nods from his place by the window when Danny looks his way. "I made a statement to Lt McGarrett. They're going to get expelled."

"What about you?" Danny asks, eyes flitting to Clara still standing by his bed.

"Two weeks suspension, but he's not going to get expelled. Provided nothing like this happens again," she warns, and Matty nods sheepishly.

Danny's so relieved he doesn't know what to do with himself. He squeezes Matty's hand speechlessly, letting him see how proud Danny is of him. Matty flushes and looks away, but he returns Danny's smile, which is more than Danny could hope for.

There's a knock on the door, which opens to reveal Steve and Meka's worried faces. Jimmy waves them in with a fond smile.

"Come on in, boys," he says, making for the door, followed by Clara. "We'll give you a few minutes."

Matty gently pulls his hand away from Danny's grip and gets up to follow them.

"You don't have to," Danny says, but Matty shakes his head.

"No, it's okay. I'll go get us something to drink." His eyes are apologetic when they flicker between him and Steve, and Danny thinks he sees Matty wince a little when Steve just stares at him. He closes the door behind himself.

"Hey, brah, you okay?" Meka says, coming closer. Steve hovers until Meka pushes him down on the bed next to Danny, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, I guess so," Danny says. "Hey, man, thanks."

"Don't even mention it," Meka waves him off. "It was worth it to be able to kick the crap out of those iceheads."

Danny's eyes stray to Steve, like they always do when they're in the same room. Steve looks worried half to death, hair mussed all over the place and eyes wide, looking so green Danny loses a little time locked in them.

"How bad is it?" Steve asks, looking like he's bracing himself for the bad news.

"Torn ACL," Danny sighs. "Doc says I'll need surgery."

Steve and Meka both wince sympathetically. Something occurs to Danny.

"Hey, how come you knew where to find me?" he asks, looking from one to the other.

"Meka saw me in the parking lot. Came to see why we hadn't gone yet; when he saw you weren't there, he told me you'd gone running off ages ago. So we went looking. Good thing we did," Steve says, shivering a little as he looks at Danny's bruised face.

"Hey," Danny says, and he suddenly doesn't care Meka's there, he just needs to stop Steve looking so distraught. He runs his fingers over the back of Steve's hand and Steve looks up at him, eyes losing some of their haunted expression. "Steve. It's okay. I'm okay."

Out of the corner of his eye Danny sees Meka make a face like he's just bitten into a lemon, but all he does is walk over to the window, turning his back on them to give them a little privacy. Steve runs his thumb gently over Danny's swollen lip, his own pressed together in distress. There's a look in his eyes that paints Danny a picture of what might happen if Steve ever meets those scumbags again.

"So what now?" Steve asks, still touching Danny's face.

"I don't know," Danny confesses. "I'm going to have to call my dad, see about our health insurance. I might have to go back to Jersey for the surgery."

Steve frowns, squeezing Danny's hand unconsciously. Danny looks down at his right hand; the skin over Steve's knuckles is cut open in a couple of places, and has the red tinge that promises a nice purple bruise taking residence in a couple of days.

"Hey, hey, lovebirds, don't get all mushy on me now," Meka grumbles from his place at the window. "Heads up. Malia and Catherine just got dropped off by Malia's dad."

Steve's smile is a little tight, but it's a smile nonetheless. Danny will take that as a win.

\---

Danny leaves the island on a Wednesday, hobbling into the terminal on a couple of ridiculously uncomfortable crutches. Matty's carrying their bags; since he's suspended anyway, he'd decided to fly home with Danny. It's still ten days before Christmas, but the terminal is full of departing people waiting anxiously in queues at check-out and boarding. The girls aren't coming home for Christmas; the tickets are expensive, even though they're still technically kids, so they're spending the holidays with Jimmy and Clara, who are completely overjoyed. Jimmy's sister Pat and her husband are coming to spend the holidays with them, too, so with a full house Amy and Kate should keep plenty busy.

The simple fact that Amy smiled at Danny when he took off for the airport, and Kate kissed his cheek without clinging to him like she would have done just a couple of months ago, speak volumes about how good Hawai'i has been for them. They were worried for him, sure, but nothing like the panic Danny suspects they would have felt if this had happened back in Jersey, when it was still just the four of them and their absent father.

It's just the two of them right now. Jimmy is parking the car, the girls and Clara aren't coming to the airport so that Danny has the space to stretch his leg straight in the back of the truck. Steve... well. They said goodbye last night, when Steve came round with Mary and his parents for dinner. Danny was having real trouble getting up and down the stairs, so Steve helped him up after dinner. He settled Danny on his bed and just stood there, saying nothing, looking at Danny with sad eyes that pulled at something inside Danny, made him catch Steve's hand and pull him down on the bed next to him.

"Hey, will you stop looking at me like that? I'll be back in a month, babe, all fixed up and ready for you to pester me into going to the beach and on high-altitude runs."

Steve pressed his lips together, gaze intent on Danny's face. "I just wish I was there for you," he said at last, eyes huge and regretful.

Danny maybe loved him quite a bit.

"I know, Steve. I know. But I'll be okay, I promise. And I'll find a way to let you know when I get out of the hospital, so you know it's all over."

"Okay, Danno," Steve said, looking earnest. He fidgeted with the cover on Danny's bed, the edge of his long-sleeved cotton sweater.

Danny watched Steve’s fingers pick at the hem, at the cuffs hanging long over Danny's hands. It was Danny's favourite top; his mom had given it him for his birthday the summer before she died, said it matched his eyes. It had been three sizes too big, but his mom had laughed and told him she wanted him to keep it, wear it when he was big and strong, and remember that he would always be her boy. Danny's shoulders fill it now, but the sleeves are still too long, and the hem is an inch too wide, hanging loose around Danny's hips.

Danny felt like he needed the reassurance just then, though. He hadn't been too keen about coming here in the first place, but now that he had to leave again, leave Steve behind -- it wasn't a pleasant feeling, is what he was saying.

Steve kept stroking the fabric by his hips, like he couldn't stop himself. Like he thought that if he kept touching a part of Danny, Danny wouldn't leave.

So that is why Danny's blue cotton sweater isn't in his luggage anymore. Danny can't help but feel that his mom would have approved.

He does have other sweaters packed, though -- the weather might be balmy here, but December in Jersey is vicious, cold so piercing sometimes it was a struggle to breathe. Jimmy makes it inside the terminal just in time to help Matty load the luggage at the check-in desk and walk them to their gate.

"You take care of yourself now, both of you. And call us when the surgery is over, you hear?" he reminds them, looking worried.

"I promise," Danny says, and "Thanks, Jimmy. For everything."

Jimmy tries to wave him off, clearing his throat gruffly, but Danny won't be deterred. He hobbles over awkwardly, draws the bigger man down into a one-armed hug.

"Merry Christmas," Danny tells him, smiling. It's strange how in just two months relative strangers could become such an integral part of him, how much he would come to love them.

"Merry Christmas, boys," Jimmy replies, releasing him and clapping Matty on the shoulder. To Danny's relief, his brother's change of heart has really lifted the atmosphere in the house.

Matty says a shy 'Merry Christmas' back, smiling hesitantly when Jimmy beams down at him. He helps them to the gate, and then they're going through, Danny hobbling resolutely while Matty braces him as much as he can. They turn to see Jimmy standing there, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking small for such a big guy. He brightens when he sees them look, though, and gives them that stupid 'hang loose' sign that Danny can no longer bring himself to hate. Danny feels a surge of affection for the guy, gratitude for all he's done for all of them and Danny in particular, and finds himself looking forward to the moment when he's not leaving, but coming back.

\---

The surgery itself is actually anticlimactic. So much has happened by the time Danny goes in that it's barely at the front of his mind, clamouring for attention amidst other, much more pertinent thoughts.

Like the fact that their dad, the stoic man he had become after their mother's death, the one barely hanging on to reality anymore, had honest-to-god had tears streaming down his face when he'd folded first Danny, and then Matty into his arms. He'd _clung_ , like they were his only lifeline in a suddenly overwhelming world. Danny hadn't known what to think. He could see the confusion in Matty's eyes, too, but they'd hugged their father back -- what else could they do?

Their father babbled on the drive back to the house, about anything and everything, a big smile plastered to his face. Later, when they were back at home, Danny had hobbled from room to room, trying to understand why everything was suddenly looking so alien, like something out of a half-forgotten dream.

"I never should have sent you away," their dad had said later, after they had finished dinner consisting of take-away Chinese from down the road. "I thought it would be easier, better, not having you around while I was figuring stuff out, but--" He clears his throat gruffly and looks away, eyes haunted. "It was like losing May all over again. I missed seeing you every day. It was like--there was this hole inside me, I don't know. I'm just so glad you're back."

He asks every minute detail about the girls, and it makes such a huge difference from the man who didn't even know his daughter had broken her leg until two days after it happened, that Danny has a little trouble keeping up. It's their dad, though, the one before their mother died, the one who knew every single thing about them even before they'd told him. Danny hadn't realised how much he'd missed him until he had him back.

So yeah. The surgery is almost a relief, all things considered, having something to focus on exclusively, without all those thoughts and worries cluttering his head. They have him on the really good meds when Matty and his dad make it in, and Danny feels loose and drifting, and for the first time in longer than he can remember, nothing hurts. More than anything, he feels _loved_ , with his dad and Matty hovering anxiously nearby, and the still-fresh memory of Steve cradling the soft blue sweater to his face when he'd thought Danny was busy stuffing piles of clothes into his carry-all, and wasn't looking at him.

The hospital tries to keep him overnight, but by the sixth hour after Danny had woken up he has had enough, and he pesters his dad into getting him discharged. The crutches they hand him are much more comfortable than the ones the hospital in Hawai'i had had on hand at the emergency room, and he can actually manage moving on his own well enough. That night the painkillers have worn off some, but he still asks Matty to dial Clara and Jimmy's number for him, just in case.

"Danny," Clara exclaims, audibly relieved. "It's all done, then?"

"Yeah, all sorted out. Doc says it was pretty standard straight-up tear, so there weren't any complications."

"Oh thank god," she says, letting out a huff of breath. "I know it was only routine, but still. I'm so happy it's over."

They chat for a while, and when he asks her to put the girls on she actually hangs up and calls him back, to share the cost of the hour-long phone call. Danny feels a little embarrassed, seeing the tears in his dad's eyes when he hears the girls' happy voices, but there's also such warmth spreading through him that he has to look away, because he's worried he might do something ridiculous like cry.

"Could you maybe--um," he drifts off when Clara's back on the phone, not knowing how to ask, unsure whether he even should.

"Out with it," Clara says, sounding so much like his mum that Danny grins even though she can't see him. Amazing how much easier it is to bear his mom's loss when he has the support of his family.

"Could you call Steve and let him know the surgery's over?" he says at last, cringing at the way it comes out. It's so glaringly obvious to him that there's more than just friendship between the two of them, he doesn't know how there isn't a bright red neon light flashing over his head every time he looks at Steve, or talks about him.

But "Sure," is all Clara says, a smile in her voice. "Of course, not a problem. I need to speak to Laura anyway. I'll pass it on."

Danny would often wonder, in the coming years, whether if he'd known then what was to come, he would have passed on a very different message, privacy be damned.

\---

The phone call comes in the early evening, just as the sun has set and shadows are hovering over the ground. Danny is watching a pot of spaghetti come to a boil when the shrill ring of the phone shatters the comfortable silence. He wonders who it is, whether it's someone from Hawai'i, whether he'll get the chance to speak to Steve anytime soon, with two weeks still to go before they can see each other again.

At first he has no idea what is happening, only works out it's Catherine after the frantic babbling has calmed down a little. The words 'Steve', 'mom', 'accident' penetrate the haze of confusion like shards of ice sliding down his spine, and for a long moment he's suspended in time, speechless, breathless, mind a complete blank.

"Catherine, slow down. Please. Okay, start from the top?"

The news isn't easier to bear this time round, when it's not _his_ mom that is gone in a screech of tires and a flash of lights. Danny's heart squeezes so tight in his chest that he sways a little, has to brace himself against the wall. He ignores Matty's worried face when it swims before his eyes, unable to do more than process. Steve's mom is dead, and Danny doesn't know what to do.

"How is--" he starts, then shakes his head. What is he expecting Catherine to say? Of course Steve is devastated, he shouldn't even need to ask. "If I call his house, will I find him?" he amends.

"I don't know," Catherine says, voice shaking and small. "I hadn't seen him in a couple days, only saw him for maybe five minutes today when I went by his house. Danny, he's looking real bad," she chokes, and Danny can hear the tears in her voice.

"Of course he is," he murmurs back absentmindedly, because yeah, he would be.

Once Catherine hangs up Danny tries calling once, twice, but the phone rings and rings, until Danny can't bear to hear the dial tone anymore. The next day, after trying to reach Steve and failing again, desperate and out of options, he calls Clara to see if she knows anything more.

"Oh, Danny," she says, voice sounding ragged. Danny wants to kick himself for not remembering that Laura had been Clara's best friend, too. "No, I don't know. John's a wreck; Jimmy's barely been home, trying to keep him together. I haven't even asked about Steve," she adds, and Danny can hear the guilt in her voice as she realises. She doesn't ask how Danny knows, and he doesn't volunteer the information.

"Could you please tell him I've been trying to reach him, if you see him? Please?"

"Of course. I'm sorry, Danny, I have to go. I love you."

It blindsides Danny, how much Clara means it, that she says it because she obviously can't bear not to, not now.

"I love you, too," Danny says gruffly, lets the speaker slip from his suddenly nerveless fingers.

\---

Steve never does pick up the phone. By the time Danny's back at Honolulu Airport, walking more or less on his own even with the weight of his carry-all on his back, he's feeling so tired he can barely see straight. He hasn't really slept much in the time since the news hit, and he'd taken to ringing Steve's house at odd hours, trying to catch someone, anyone over there, all in vain.

Clara hugs him so tight when she sees him that Danny feels his ribs creak, but he squeezes her back just as desperately. She doesn't say much until he and Matty are in the car and she's headed back into town, but the tension in the small space is thick, and Danny's not surprised when she clears her throat and slants him a glance.

"Danny, I have some bad news," she says, and Danny's entire body cramps in apprehension. She takes a deep breath, and Danny braces himself, because whatever it is, it can't be good, not with everything else that's been going on. "Steve's left for the Mainland," Clara says gently. "It was John's decision. He sent both Steve and Mary away, to stay with relatives."

Danny's chest constricts at the thought of not seeing Steve for a while, not being able to help him get through this. His heart aches at the thought of how much Steve must be hurting, out there with no one to turn to.

"When is he coming back?" he asks, voice rough.

There's a pinched look in Clara's eyes, and for a moment her mouth turns down in anguish.

"He's not coming back," she says.

Danny can't breathe. It's not a conscious choice; his body just seizes up, and his lungs hurt, and his fists clench tightly in his lap.

"Oh," he says. His voice is so small that he barely hears it himself. It's a wonder Clara does.

They don't speak for the rest of the drive home. When they get there, Kate and Amy run out of the house to meet them. Danny immediately zeroes in on Kate's dead eyes, and this time it's fear constricting his chest. Amy knew Laura too, as Mary's mother, no less, and it seems like her death weighs heavily on Amy. Danny sends a prayer to any god that's listening that Amy does not have a relapse to that awful time when their mom died.

Both Kate and Amy launch themselves at him, hugging him tightly. Danny does not think it's his imagination that Amy clings a little more desperate than the last time she'd seen him. He strokes their hair, and after a moment Kate lets him go to say hello to Matty. Amy, though, does not move away. Danny holds her to him, and lets his own grief at losing Steve when he'd only just found him take a hold of him, at least for a little while.

\---

If Danny had thought that leaving home to move here in the first place was hard, then this is torture, pure and simple. Everything around him reminds him of Steve. He finds himself turning to the empty space next to him more often than not, wanting to share something with Steve only to find him missing, time and time again. Clara tries to ask if he's okay a few times only for Danny to put her off with empty reassurances; in the end, no doubt sick of him, she corners Danny in his bedroom where he's trying not to give in to self-pity, and asks him flat-out whether there was something going on between him and Steve.

Danny doesn't have the strength to keep denying it any longer. It is actually a relief when he lets himself slump back against the headboard and nod dejectedly.

"Oh, Danny," Clara says, and then she's there, drawing him into a hug, letting him bury his face in her shoulder and hold on for a while.

Surprisingly, it's Catherine that's the hardest to cope with, probably because she knew better than anyone what Steve had come to mean to Danny. She shows up one morning, two days before school starts again, hollow-eyed and looking lost. Danny takes one look at her and pulls her in, lets her sob her misery and helplessness onto his shoulder.

He feels like all he's doing these days is holding on, barely, to people around him. Steve has left such a huge hole in their lives, not just at school but at home, too. Danny can't believe he's gone.

"He left this for you," Catherine says when she pulls back at last, wiping her eyes and fishing a letter out of her purse.

"Oh," Danny says, taking it automatically. Then his head snaps up. "You saw him, then? Before he left?"

"Yeah, for like two minutes. His dad was--he was in a rush, is all." Catherine shudders when she says that, and Danny can only wonder at what had really transpired.

Catherine follows him when he waves her inside, and they head for the kitchen. As they pass the living room, the lack of noise from inside is more conspicuous than any kind of mayhem, considering Amy and her friend Kono are meant to be inside. Danny pokes his head in the room, and almost rushes inside when he sees them both on the ground, holding something and crying. Then he looks down and notices the spread photos, three girls grinning up into the camera, blonde, black, and chestnut hairs so messed up that they looked like some strange kind of quilt over their heads. He quietly backs out again. It's good for them, having each other to help them through the loss of Mary.

The letter burns his hand before he leaves it on the counter, to open later. He and Catherine chat for a while, but it's half-hearted at best, both of them still too numb to muster up much enthusiasm. Danny asks after the others, and Catherine says they're all okay. Joseph is taking over as quarterback now that Steve's gone, and Malia's been helping out at her dad's practice over the holidays, so Catherine hasn't seen her much. And Ailani's father was released from jail a week ago, having served his 12 months sentence.

Danny thinks he would have felt a lot more triumphant about the pieces of the Ailani mystery coming together, had it happened a month ago. He supposes it's irrational to blame Jimmy Jameson for your father's scams catching up to him, let alone his wife and nephew, but Danny hears love makes you do stupid things.

Later that night, Danny slits the envelope open with shaking fingers. There's not much written on the single sheet of paper inside, a few lines that amount to an 'I have to go, please call me'. Danny's stomach jumps when he sees Steve left him a phone number -- finally, a way to reach him. But then he blinks his eyes clear and he sees that the three numbers in the middle are completely obliterated by what could only be drops of water. He lifts up the envelope and he notices that the back is also wet, like the moisture has seeped from the outside in, and taken with it his only chance of finding Steve again. Somehow, he doesn't think John McGarrett will be terribly accommodating if Danny were to ask him where he'd sent his son.

Danny makes to fold up the letter again, heart heavy and eyes stinging, when he notices the tiny script on the other side of the page, right at the bottom where it could easily be missed.

"I love you", the shaky letters say, and Danny has to fight not to crush the letter in his fist, because the pain that tears through him is simply overwhelming. He dimly thinks that being numb was better than this, this wave of grief.

Danny realises that he isn't an island all to himself, of course, no matter how much he wishes he were left alone and cut off from the world. His family are not people who would leave him to his own devices, not when he's barely left his room in a month outside of school hours. So when his father calls to suggest that Danny come home and finish his school year in his old class, Danny doesn't fight him all that hard.

~~


	3. Chapter 3

_Interlude_

The years haven't been kind to the piece of paper that resides in Danny's wallet, right behind a picture of Matty, Kate, and Amy at Kate's high-school graduation. Kate is grinning happily at the camera, and by extension Danny, clutching onto Amy and Matty's shoulders. Kate has Danny's colouring, just like Amy has Matty's, and the three of them, how is Danny related to such beautiful people, sometimes he can't understand at all.

The picture protects his heart in more ways than one. Yes, they are his beloved pain-in-the-ass siblings, but behind their happy faces hides another chunk of it, long secreted away until no one could even guess at its significance.

Danny runs his fingers again over the folded-up paper, gone a little yellow with age and constant handling. The edges are starting to fray a little, almost see-through and worn from a thousand refolds. Danny no longer needs to open it to see the words before him; hasn't for some time, if he's honest. He could close his eyes and bring them up, every line, every letter, every washed away splotch where numbers should have been.

He runs a finger under the edge of it now, where it fits snugly in its little pocket inside the worn leather. The touch is enough to bring back feelings, if not pictures. It's been so many years since he'd last seen Steve's face that he's starting to forget what his eyes looked like, the shape of his mouth, the way longer strands of his hair used to be teased by the breeze flowing in from the ocean. In his mind, there's just the picture of a too-handsome boy with a blinding smile, the one he only had for Danny.

The feelings, though, he'll never forget. The strange sense of peace, the contentment, the feeling of coming home every time Steve had looked up at him and smiled a welcome. They've faded a little now; time, grief, loneliness, they've each nipped at the edges for too many days and weeks and months, and the only times they still feel sharp and vivid are in his dreams, long forgotten by morning.

He's so lost in his thoughts, nostalgia and melancholy both as he looks at those reminders of a different life, that when the patrol car he's sitting in jolts forward, slammed from behind, he jumps so hard he smacks his head on the roof.

"What the hell?" he mutters to himself, fighting with the door handle, yanking it open and pushing his way out of the car.

"Oh my god, I am so terribly sorry," says the woman in the sleek Mercedes, whose nose is currently kissing the police car's bumper. "Oh, no. It's all this driving on the wrong side of the road, I'm just not used to it, and I know I should have probably taken a few driving classes when I moved here, but there's never been any time I could spare, and those blasted brakes, I swear there must be something wrong with them--"

"Ma'am," Danny interrupts the woman's flow, having to say it another two times before it even registers. She looks at him with huge, appealing eyes, lovely brown hair tied up in a neat chignon at the back of her head, like a delicious chocolate praline. She smiles tentatively, and Danny is fascinated by the pink sheen of her lips, beautifully curved by nature.

"I am most terribly sorry once again," she repeats, soft accent caressing the vowels. "I'm Rachel, Rachel Fitzpatrick."

"Danny Williams," Danny responds, helplessly drawn in by her charm. "All right, Rachel, why don't you tell me what happened here, and we'll see what we're going to do about it?"

~~


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Three**

There must be some god out there that's got it in for him, there _must_ be. Moving to Hawai'i once was a mistake; moving to the fucking place _twice_ \-- there's no defence for that kind of stupidity.

Yet here Danny is, breathing in Honolulu Airport's humid air yet again, looking around him despairingly. Sixteen years away, and almost nothing's changed. It still looks the same, smells the same, even feels the same -- a mixture of suntan lotion, hibiscus flowers and year-long summer. There's a strange flipping feeling in his gut as he breathes it in -- to his horror, Danny realises he has _missed_ this, never even known it was something he needed until he's back here now, closing his eyes and taking a moment to ground himself.

"Danny!"

Before Danny has time to open his eyes and turn, there's an armful of tall woman clinging to him. He tightens his arms around her, burying his nose in her ash-grey hair. Time has been kind to Clara, but there's no hiding the fact that she's gone almost completely grey. When she releases him, after a long moment of holding him close, Danny sees that the tiny wrinkles around her eyes have deepened, until they're undisguised marks of her age. He notices there are plenty of laugh lines, too. It makes him smile back at her when she beams at him.

"So good to have you here again, Danny," Clara says, still holding on to Danny's arm, letting her eyes drift up and down him.

"It's good to be back," Danny says, and knows it's far more genuine than mere politeness.

They chat about their lives as Danny throws his suitcase into the back of the trunk and climbs in next to her -- about her school, her sister-in-law the new Governor, Jimmy refusing to go to the doctor's even though his hip is giving him more and more trouble, Kate passing the Bar on her first try, Amy's imminent engagement, and Matty making his first million. Danny doesn't mention Rachel or Grace, but Clara zooms in on the omission mercilessly.

"Have they settled in?" she asks with no preamble as she takes the right turn onto Kalanianaole Highway, glancing at Danny when he hesitates.

"I would imagine," Danny says noncommittally, looking out of the window.

"They've been here what, two weeks now?"

"And a half. I had to settle the sale of the house and pack up my stuff from the motel," Danny tells her when he can't avoid her any longer.

"Are you and Rachel--" Clara stops, hesitates. "I mean, obviously it's tense, this isn't an ideal situation, but I was under the impression that you two were getting along better now?"

Danny sighs deeply, closing his eyes and letting his head drop back onto the car seat. "We were making progress, but that was before Rachel decided to pack up and drag Grace across the country and half-way into the ocean."

Clara shoots him another look, but a minute later they're pulling into the familiar driveway, and Danny feels a pang of nostalgia about the time when all of them were here together for the first time.

He pushes his door open and climbs out, just in time to see Jimmy hobble up to him.

"Danny," Jimmy calls out, drawing Danny in for a tight hug. "How's it, kiddo?"

"Hey, Jimmy," Danny says fondly, clapping his back. When Jimmy pulls back, he can't hide his wince when his weight falls on his bad hip. Danny frowns. "Listen, I don't care what you say, Clara and I are taking you to the doctor's first thing tomorrow. _Don't_ even bother to argue with me."

Jimmy, who had opened his mouth automatically, closes it with a groan. "Why did we ask you to stay with us again?" he grumbles, but his eyes are warm. Danny is well aware just how well loved he and his siblings are by these two wonderful people.

"Because you're a pushover," he says instead, grinning. Clara snorts behind him, hauling Danny's bag out of the truck. Danny hurries to help her.

"Tch," Jimmy scoffs, but he can't stop beaming at Danny. Danny feels welcomed all over again, a little piece of family waiting for him right here on this island that has somehow wormed its way under his skin.

\---

He starts looking for a place soon enough, though, no matter how much he loves his aunt and uncle. He just needs his own space, needs to be allowed to feel unhappy when he can't help it, take the time to get used to the idea that he's come full circle, right back to this place where he stopped existing and started living again. And around every corner, in every grain of sand, the memory of an achingly familiar face waits to ambush him, give him pause, make him start and look away from every tall, well-built, dark-haired man he comes across.

All this time, all that has happened, and still he comes back to this --the memory of Steve's face, young and open, happy, grinning at him unselfconsciously. Danny has spent countless moments thinking about what Steve must look like now, sixteen years later, no longer a boy but a man, grown up and probably long past that strange month a lifetime ago when a boy from New Jersey loved him to distraction.

Danny's grateful when Monday rolls around, and he can get to work at last. He's not expecting much. He moved back here because he followed Grace, not because he thinks to make friends and meet buddies to go out for beers with. Yet someone up there must be smiling down at him at last, because it hasn't been an hour since his introduction to the Captain and the headquarters when there's a yell behind him, "Eh, _haole_!"

He turns, and he can barely believe his eyes, but there Meka is, barely changed by time and looking mightily thrilled to see him. Danny can't hold back his grin, and by the time he's walking up to Meka it's stretched his face so wide that his cheeks hurt a little. They grab each other in a tight hug, clapping each other on the back.

They haven't seen each other since Danny went back, because plane tickets are expensive and so are phone calls. Yet it's like Danny never left, and he's grateful beyond words that nothing between them seems to have changed with time and distance. Meka still spends his free time baiting him and having his back in equal measures, and it helps Danny settle more than anything else ever could.

Meka's wife Amy is _lovely_ , young and bright and happy, a constant smile on her face. Their boy is two years younger than Grace; he has his dad's face and his mom's dancing eyes. Danny has dinner with them once a week, and after the first time he calls Rachel and asks to take Grace with him. Grace is thrilled to find a new friend, and she and Billy run wild through the Hanamoas' small house, giggling and chasing each other through the airy rooms.

"Catherine's coming into port next week," Meka says one night, and Danny feels a pleasant jolt in his chest at the thought of seeing his friend again. And if his smile is a little dimmer than it might have otherwise been, well, neither Meka nor Amy mention it.

Danny's composure is sorely challenged three weeks after his move, when he comes into headquarters one morning with a take-away coffee clutched in his hand, and almost barrels into a tall, sturdy man who steadies him with a hand on his elbow.

"John?" Danny says, derailed from the thanks he'd meant to express.

John McGarrett looks at him for a long moment before recognition dawns in the shrewd eyes. "Well well. Little Danny Williams. Jimmy mentioned your move. How are you settling in?"

"Pretty well, thank you," Danny replies, still dazed. He can see Steve in the man's eyes, in the set of his chin, and his heart clenches painfully with the unwanted reminder of a different life.

John nods, looks him up and down, and there's something like approval in his eyes when he looks back up at Danny. "Good to see you, son," John says; there's an odd note in his voice -- regret? It doesn't make sense, and Danny doesn't know the elder McGarrett half as well as--he doesn't know the man at all, so he dismisses it, nodding his goodbye instead.

It's the last time Danny will see the man alive, but that's still months and months into his future. Right now there's only the punch in the gut left over from meeting the person who took Steve away from him all those years ago. He walks up to his desk in a daze, cup of coffee slipping from his nerveless fingers to wobble onto the desktop, sits in the chair and stares into space for some time before someone kicks his foot.

"Let's go, brah, there's been a shooting over in Pearl City," Meka snaps, work mask firmly on. Danny shakes the confusion off, thankful to be pointed in a direction and told what to do.

It's weeks before he can walk down the street without getting startled every few steps, months before he can even consider taking Grace to Ala Moana park, like she's been asking for ages. Predictably, she has a great time; Danny, on the other hand, is drowned by memories of the one time he came here with Steve, how excited the big nerd had been to show Danny everything. There's a bittersweet smile hanging on his lips all afternoon, and he really shouldn't be surprised that Grace picks up on it. She's a sharp one, no question.

"Danno? Is there something wrong?" she asks when they're sitting on a bench, eating double helpings of mango shave ice.

Danny considers waving it off, or fabricating some half-truth, but in the end he just can't bring himself to lie to Grace. "You know how I told you that me and your uncle Matty and your aunts spent a year here, going to school?"

"Sure, after grandma died." She looks at him with trusting eyes, long spoon hanging off one corner of her lips.

"That's right. Well, it's just been a little difficult for me to adjust to being back here, is all. I have old memories of this place, and everywhere I look, there's a reminder. Do you know what I mean?"

Grace looks old beyond her years when she nods. "Are they bad memories?" she asks, a concerned look scrunching her brow.

"No, sweetheart. Not bad memories; very happy memories, in fact. But when I'm here, I miss the people that were with me back then."

"Like I miss Nancy when you used to take me to ballet practice in New Jersey?" Grace pipes up, an understanding look in her eyes. "Just because she moved away doesn't mean she wasn't there at all."

"That is exactly right, monkey. Look at you, how did you get to be so clever, I love you so much," Danny says, squeezing her to him with one arm over her shoulder. She smiles sweetly up at him, and Danny is hit all over again with the knowledge of just why it was that he packed up his life and followed his little girl across half the world.

"Don't your friends still live here, Danno?" she asks with an eight-year-old's innocence.

"Some of them. Like your Uncle Meka, we went to school together when I was here. And Kamekona, I'll introduce you to him the next time we go into town. And Malia, you'll like her, she's a doctor, she helps very sick people at the hospital." He considers stopping here, but Grace is still looking up at him expectantly, and he has never been able to disappoint her. "Others don't anymore," he adds. "There was a boy, Steve, he and his sister Mary were good friends of mine and your aunt Amy's. They had to leave half-way through the year we spent here. And the truth is, monkey, some people you just don't forget."

Grace nods solemnly, picking at her shave ice. "I don't think I'm ever going to forget Nancy. She was my best friend," she says; there's a maudlin note in her voice, and Danny hurries to lighten the mood, telling Grace a little more about Steve and Mary, the crazy things Mary and Amy used to get up to. And it helps; it surprises him, but when they're driving back to Rachel's that evening, Danny finds himself breathing easier than he has since he flew back here five months ago.

\---

Exactly one month later to the day, all hell breaks loose. Danny gets the call half-way through the morning, and the address makes his blood freeze in his veins, even though he knows that the only person that has lived in that house for years now is John McGarrett. Nevertheless, when he pulls up to find the street completely covered in police cruisers, the apprehension in Danny's gut only rises. Nothing good can come on the tail of a sight like this.

John McGarrett is slumped in a plain kitchen chair, hands and feet still tied to it, his chin pressed into his chest. There's really no way this could be anything else but a crime scene; the spray of blood everywhere is just an afterthought.

"You're taking the case, Williams," his Captain tells him gravely. "I've been informed you knew the victim, too, but not as long as the rest of us, and you're still fresh off the mainland. Let's see how far you can get."

Danny is stunned -- pretty much no one in HPD apart from Meka gives him the time of day, and he would have imagined that the whole department would have been up in arms about the murder of one of their own -- a decorated war hero, no less, and someone who has spent most of his life in the precinct. But even though the other officers at the scene are angry and bewildered, they fall in line with the Captain's decision with an ease that feels vaguely wrong to Danny. Yes, their training dictates that they take orders as they come, without question, but to swallow something like this so easily, when Danny's sure most of them are seething at the idea of putting a _haole_ on John McGarrett's murder, it feels like brainwashing to Danny. He's never held with blindly following orders, and this unquestioning obedience makes him uneasy.

Jimmy, when Danny remembers to call him, is devastated. He's known John McGarrett for upwards of thirty years, and to lose him like this is, while not completely unexpected given their line of work, still heartbreaking. Danny is sure he hears Clara crying quietly in the background, and promises to go round that evening, if for nothing else than to share their grief, see if there's anything at all he can do for them.

He doesn't go to the funeral; he's too busy burying himself in paperwork, ferreting out leads, ordering taps on useless weapons dealers, chasing up dead ends. He took his time on the scene the day before, but this morning, after he drops Grace off at school, he heads back over to the house, dread pooling into his stomach.

He's not an idiot. He is, in fact, one fine detective, if he says so himself. So he's perfectly aware that one of these days he's going to round a corner and walk smack into Steve McGarrett, a blast from the past that still has the power to destroy him, much as Danny laments the imposition.

He just isn't prepared to walk into the McGarrett garage and come face to face with the man himself _right this moment_.

"Drop your weapon," Steve roars, and Danny's yelling the same thing before his brain kicks him but well and good, cluing him in as to just whom he's faced up against.

Danny lowers his weapon from sheer shock, because it's impossible to miss the resemblance this man bears to the sixteen-year-old boy Danny loved. The broad shoulders, the dark hair cropped much closer to the head than Danny's used to seeing, those steely eyes boring straight into his.

"Steve," Danny says quietly, half-greeting and half-confirmation, and Steve narrows his eyes at him, calculating, assessing, gun still pointing unerringly at Danny's head.

"What-- _Danny_?" Steve says, voice thick with disbelief, blood-shot eyes widening with surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Danny sighs, shoving his gun back in its holder. "It's a very long story," he says, walking closer. "First, though, I'm very sorry for your loss." He offers Steve his hand, meeting his eyes for the brief moment he can force.

Steve just stares at him, gun still in hand, and after a moment Danny drops his hand and makes an aborted motion to run it through his hair. He contents himself with running a palm down his tie, a way to keep his hands busy and cover up the fact that he's floundering, caught with his figurative pants down.

"Look, I'm really sorry, but you can't be here right now," he forces out at last. "This is an active crime scene."

"Doesn't seem all that active," Steve snaps back, and okay, Danny gets that he's grieving, that he's still in shock from the news of his father's death, but this is just too much.

"I am not at liberty to discuss the investigation, you know that," Danny says, non-negotiable.

"So you're the _haole_ detective they put on the case. Chin might have warned me," Steve mutters to himself, and okay, Danny has no idea what he's talking about, but he resents the fact that he'll always be defined as the outsider on this damn island.

"Yes, I am, and I promise you I'll get to the bottom of this, but right now I need you to leave, okay?"

Steve stares at him some more, wary and suspicious, like this is the first time he's ever met Danny; and yeah, Danny knew that Steve had forgotten him a long time ago, but it still slices through him like a blade.

"Fine," Steve says, grabbing hold of a red tool box that Danny knows for a fact was sitting right there in the garage yesterday afternoon.

"What the hell are you doing?" Danny bristles when Steve makes to walk past him. "You can't take that, it's evidence. What, you never watched any cop shows as a kid?"

Steve looks furious for a moment, opens his mouth like he means to rip Danny a new one, but snaps it shut before anything comes out. Danny can see it in his eyes when Steve considers bullshitting his way out of this one, and also the decision not to.

"What, are you going to book me, Williams?" and oh, fuck, does that one hurt.

"Sure," Danny grits out. "Maybe call an ambulance while I'm at it."

Steve's lips twitch, and if the bastard laughs at him Danny will not be responsible for his actions. But all Steve does is pop the tool box on top of what Danny knows is the covered Marquis Steve and his dad used to work on together, and pull out his phone.

"Oh, what now?" Danny complains, crossing his arms over his chest. Steve makes a condescending 'just a second' gesture, and oh my god, Danny has never wanted to punch anyone more _in his life_. He wonders for a strange, out-of-time moment when Steve became such a prick. He feels a little stupid for being so hung up on a guy that it's glaringly obvious no longer exists, replaced by some stranger that trusts no one and thinks the fact he's 'Lt Commander McGarrett, US Navy' gives him the right to boss people around like it's his job.

He watches, bemused, as Steve gets the Governor on the phone, accepts some deal or other, and gets sworn in as a police officer right there in front of him.

"Now it's my crime scene," Steve growls, picks up the damned toolbox and stalks out of the door, leaving Danny staring at the empty space Steve left with a lost feeling in his chest.

\---

He doesn't have long to wallow in self-pity before someone is trying to knock his shitty front door down, and he's pretty sure whom he's going to find on the other side. Steve slides past him without so much as a 'by your leave', taking the room in with a few short glances that grate on Danny. His eyes linger on the photo of Grace, and oh man, Danny does not expect the welling regret for not being the one to tell Steve about his daughter. This is going to get old very soon.

"This your daughter?" Steve asks, and there's something dark in his voice, something an awful lot like hurt, and what. Where does he get off being hurt about--Danny doesn't even know.

"That's my Grace," Danny answers, deceptively light, well aware there's a warning in his voice Steve would do well to heed.

"You let your daughter stay _here_?" Steve says, making a show of looking around, and okay, Danny really does _not_ like that tone of his, or the hints of a sneer on his face.

"Hey," he says, and this time Steve really can't mistake the warning to back the fuck off. "Are you suggesting I don't take the best care of my daughter?" Jesus, what happened to the guy Danny used to trust, who used to think the world of Danny?

Time, Danny supposes. Time grinds even the sturdiest rose-tinted spectacles to dust.

Steve just shrugs, giving the place a last once-over before dropping it, though his gaze keeps straying to the small photo frame. He shakes himself, and Danny watches the 'all business' expression steal over his face. It's not unlike his 'study' face from all those years ago, although the addition of deadly SEAL into the bargain is something new. It's--interesting, and in another time and place Danny would be intrigued. As it is, he just wants to get this over with. To think that he'd imagined, _fantasised_ even, about Steve coming back, about their reunion--well. Reality always disappoints, and that's all there is to it.

So he really is not expecting for Steve to conscript him into his little personal vendetta against anyone and everyone who might stand in his way in his pursuit of justice. When Steve gives him his reasons for choosing Danny, dissects his psychological profile right there in Danny's dingy apartment with a detachment that looks practiced, something inside Danny snaps, fragile and stretched to the end of its tether.

And then the complete bastard goes on to get him _shot_. Danny ignores the odd urgency in Steve's voice when he yells Danny's name, the aborted move in his direction, a red-hot mist of rage and pain taking over, lifting him up and around the house, out on the other side, dodging and twisting in between market stalls, trying to catch a glimpse of Doran, using it when he's got it to put a bullet through his head when it looks like it's him or Steve. And then. _And then_. The self-entitled _fucker_.

He's really not all that surprised when he watches himself, as if from a distance, haul back and punch Steve in the face with everything he's got. He knows for a fact it's got to hurt -- just because Danny got married and had a kid does not mean he's let his past slide completely. There's a trail of bruised opponents all the way back to Jersey to testify otherwise. To his surprise, Steve says nothing apart from a murmured "son of a bitch", which even Danny allows is fair.

The easy banter surprises him even more, he's not going to lie. Steve has changed, true enough, but the quick sixteen-year-old is still there, even when he's buried so deep inside, Danny wonders if Steve realises he's even there at all. It makes Danny thaw a little, lets him give back as good as he gets from Steve's default deadpan setting.

When Steve says they're on their way to visit an old friend, Danny could not have possibly imagined whom he's about to come face to face with. Chin looks tired, drawn, nowhere near the bright-faced rookie cop Danny had last seen all those years ago. Danny knows half of the story, of course he does; new or not, Meka has dropped enough hints for Danny to work out that something seriously wrong went down with Chin, and that for some reason his name is taboo in the precinct. His first reaction on hearing just _why_ Chin resigned is to haul ass back to work and punch a few choice people in the face for believing this _bullshit_ about one of the most honest guys Danny knows.

But he knows that won't solve anything. Chin looks surprised at Danny's indignation on his behalf, and that more than anything just makes Danny sad. And when Steve gives his little "Come with us now, and we don't have to talk about it again" speech, well. Danny kind of wants to kiss him, and that is _the worst news_ he's gotten all day, even worse than Steve's return in the first place. Because it's not like Danny doesn't remember what Steve's lips tasted like against his; decades later, it's still as sharp as the day he flew off, Steve's taste still in his mouth, Steve's sad face still etched behind his eyelids. Danny wonders distractedly what Steve would do if Danny just said _fuck it_ and _kissed_ him, licked his way into Steve's mouth, _shut him up_ for a blessed few minutes. Steve might be a dick, but damn if he hasn't grown into the promise of his young self. He's still freakishly tall, but he's bulked up, and his shoulders are almost as wide as Danny's, his arms muscled and taut, his chest...

This is really not the kind of thing Danny should be thinking about when he's driving hell for leather down the highway towards North Shore. And when he claps eyes on Kono, fresh from the water like some goddess come to life, he really _should not_ be thinking about how interesting Steve looks with those glasses on, straight nose supporting the frames, short hair ruffled by the wind, standing there with his feet braced apart and his arms crossed against his chest. Danny wants to tackle him into the sand and do truly filthy things to his person.

He attempts a decoy, flirting with Kono because she's there and she looks amazing and she used to reach his chest the last time he saw her and now she's almost taller than him. She laughs him off, and that's that -- Danny backs off gracefully, and ignores Chin's amused look.

And then the fucker goes and loses his shirt, and who does that, whips off their clothes at the slightest provocation, god, he has a freaking bedroom, he could change there just fine, but _no_ , he has to mess with Danny's head, doesn't he; he has to show off those damned tattoos, those muscles, Jesus Christ, how is this _fair_.

He hates this Steve, Danny reminds himself. This Steve is an asshole. Really. An assuming, control freak asshole, who waits for a special occasion to apologise for getting someone shot, okay, this is not cool in Danny Williams' book of How It's Done.

But. Steve's sitting there, staring into the ocean, occasionally throwing small glances at Danny that Danny would classify as disbelief mixed with delight, if he didn't think it was just wishful thinking on his behalf.

"So," Steve says, head flopping to one side to look at Danny properly. "You got married."

"And divorced," Danny says, flopping his left hand at Steve, the one where the wedding band outline is just starting to tan over. "And you? Navy SEALs, really, Lt Commander?"

"Really," Steve says, a small smile playing at his lips. He looks pleased that Danny's noticed, which is so patently ridiculous that Danny wants to laugh, but he knows where they are, knows what Steve found in the house behind them just that morning, knows -- or at least suspects -- what Steve's life must have been like for the past sixteen years to put the happiness that someone noticed his achievements on that expressive face, and Danny wants nothing more but to go back in time and fucking--punch John McGarrett, something, he doesn't know.

"Your daughter?" Steve says, breaking into Danny's thoughts, looking genuinely interested.

"Grace is eight, she'll be nine in November," Danny says, and okay, it's not like he can keep the pride out of his voice.

"That's great," Steve says warmly. "So you, uh." He looks awkward all of a sudden, shifting in the deck chair. "You moved because of her?"

"Back on this pineapple-ridden island of doom, you mean? Yeah. Rachel moved Grace, I followed. That's how it works in our bizarre little family unit."

"Huh," Steve says, looking away. After a while, during which Danny tries not to stare and fails, Steve clears his throat. "I meant to ask. I know it was a long time ago, and you probably don't remember, but, uh. There was a letter I left with--"

"Catherine?" Danny interrupts, and of course, _of course_ he's going to bring this up. Damn McGarretts, they can never let anything go. "Yeah, I got it."

Steve blinks. "You did? You never--" he clamps his jaw back shut and jerks his head away, looking furious with himself.

And _oh_. Danny blinks a few times, heart beating double-time. Steve hoped Danny would call, went against his dad's wishes in leaving the number, most likely, and then Danny never did.

"Steve. Steve, look at me."

For the longest time, Steve wouldn't; and then he does, defiant, a wall between him and the world.

"Steve, the number was smudged. I promise you, the number, half of it was gone. I don't know how it happened, looked like it was splashed with water. I'll show you the letter if you don't believe me."

Steve is staring at him, like he's looking for the tiniest sign that Danny is lying; Danny looks back openly, letting Steve see the truth in his eyes. Finally Steve shudders, like some weight has disappeared from his shoulders, and oh my god, he's smiling, he's smiling at Danny, and Jesus, Danny is not equipped to handle this, not the way Steve looks at him like he's the sun dawning, like Danny is something Steve didn't think he was allowed to have.

"Oh," Steve says, beaming at Danny, "I thought--um. Nevermind."

Which is, of course, the moment Steve's phone rings.

\---

With the take-down set up for tomorrow, Danny decides it's high time he left, because this, it's all too much to process right now, and Steve keeps _looking_ at him, and Danny has no idea what is going on anymore.

He drives around aimlessly -- or so he thinks, but apparently his hind brain knows better than him what he needs, because when he next focuses on his surroundings he's idling outside a familiar iron gate, staring at it unseeingly.

The intercom next to his driver's seat beeps. "Was there something you wanted, Daniel?" Rachel says, voice tinny but still -- always -- distinct.

"Uh," Danny says eloquently.

There's a pause and then there's a clang and the gate swings open, an unspoken invitation. Danny switches into first in a daze, and the Camaro jerks a little as it climbs the slight incline.

Rachel's waiting for him at the door, a barely noticeable frown furrowing her brow. "Is everything okay?" she asks, and Danny marvels once more that there's only concern now in her voice, no longer the barely veiled exasperation, the hint of contempt. Finding Stan really had done wonders for their after-marriage relations.

Danny stands there helplessly, not knowing where to start. Rachel reaches forward, takes his wrist and tugs him to stand beside her at the door frame. "Is it the case?" she prods, and Danny grimaces.

He'd long ago told her about his previous time here in Hawai'i, back when the flush of love was still fierce and new, when they'd wanted to know _everything_ about each other. So she knows of Steve, and what he meant to Danny. And she knows of John McGarrett's murder, because Danny had, to his furious disappointment, had to reschedule his Grace weekend for next week, and had had to explain why.

So "Kind of," he replies, thrusting his hands in his pockets and looking down at his shoes. "Steve came back," he admits at last.

"Oh," Rachel says on an exhale, and when Danny looks up, her eyes are kind. "Well. Would you like to talk about it, or where you blocking my driveway because you missed me?"

Danny makes a face at her, and she smirks. Still, she opens the door and steps aside, and Danny has no option but to brush past her and go in, because at this point he needs to get his head straight or he has no idea what he'll do when he sees Steve again.

Rachel leads the way into the kitchen, fixes Danny a cup of coffee from the space-age coffee maker Stan favours and makes a cup of tea for herself. They sit at the kitchen table in silence for a while until Rachel loses patience with him and raises an eyebrow, something she knows drives Danny up the wall.

Danny huffs, but folds and recounts the events of the morning, up to and including the punching Steve in the face, and the Steve taking his shirt off the first chance he gets, and the look on Steve's face when Danny told him about the phone number. Rachel listens -- she's always been so very good at listening, taking the time to wheedle all the details out of him right before she knocks him out for six (damn Rachel and her cricket obsession) with a well-placed observation that turns his world around.

Today is no exception. She puts down her cup of tea and fixes Danny with a shrewd look. "Danny. I know this isn't easy for you, after what happened last time. But you have a second chance here. Maybe it won't work out, maybe it was never meant to. But maybe, just maybe, in him you'll find what you've been looking for all this time--shut up. You know I'm right; this thing between us, it was never going to last the distance," she finishes, and Danny snaps his mouth closed on his protest.

Danny looks down into his coffee like it holds all the answers. "It's just, it's so hard to superimpose the sixteen-year-old onto that--that--"

"Hunk of manflesh?" Rachel supplies, smirking again.

"I was _going_ to say military-trained killing machine," Danny kvetches. "Don't go putting words in my mouth now."

"Right, of course. You need the space for other things."

"Rachel!" Danny gasps, shocked, feeling like a 60-year-old spinster. His ears are burning, and the image of him on his knees in front of Steve, well. He's not going to forget _that_ one in a hurry.

Rachel laughs, one of those filthy chuckles that used to have Danny hard in seconds. She winks at him, and he feels the old stirring, he does, but there's just too much between them now, and with Steve shouldering his way back into his life, Danny's just too confused to deal with it.

Rachel seems to sense that, because suddenly there's a hand over his on the table. "Oh, Danny, I'm sorry," Rachel says, looking contrite. "I shouldn't tease. I know this must be difficult for you. It's just, this is the first time I've seen you this affected by another person, since we…"

"Yeah. No, it's okay, Rachel. I'm sorry. It's just so confusing. I remember the other Steve, but this Steve is him, too, only -- the improved version, I guess. And I have _no idea_ how he feels about that stunt of ours all those years ago, whether he just wants to forget it, or..."

Rachel hums, braces her head on her hand, elbow perched on the table. "You need to talk this through with him, I'm afraid. I couldn't possibly imagine what he might think about it. But," she sighs, drops her hand and looks him in the eye. "Danny. What is it _you_ want?"

Danny--blushes. This is mortifying; it's hasn't happened to him since those all-too-brief months half a lifetime ago when he'd believed himself to have found the one person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

" _Oh,_ " Rachel says again, and this time she's full-out beaming at him. " _Well_. That's certainly interesting." She winks at him again; Danny bites his lower lip, feeling his heart flip as he allows himself to acknowledge that _yes_ he wants this, wants Steve, for all that Steve's pretty much _insane_ , and even more of an adrenaline junkie than he used to be.

A shriek from the doorway startles him, and he turns just in time to catch Grace throwing herself on top of him.

"Daddy, Daddy, what are you doing here? It's not Saturday yet!" she yells delightedly, squeezing him tightly.

"It isn't? Well, that's the worst news I've gotten all day," Danny pouts theatrically, and she giggles. "Actually I came to talk to your mom, monkey. And to see you, of course, now that you're done with your homework. You _are_ done with homework, aren't you?"

Grace makes a face at him. "English is boring. I did my math problems first, they were really easy!"

"You are so much smarter than me," Danny says, hugging her to him and dropping a kiss over her head.

He listens to her talk about school for a while, and lets the peace of her sweet voice settle his doubts and insecurities. When Rachel looks at him and tilts her head towards Grace questioningly, Danny mouths 'later', shrugging when she raises her eyebrows. It's not like she won't meet Steve eventually.

\---

The weight of his realisation follows him throughout the next day, the next week. Working with Steve is not what Danny expects. The shootings and explosions aren't too surprising, but the easy laughter is, the way Steve _gets_ him, the way he never has to explain because Steve is already on it. The staggering intelligence, the mind like a steel trap, the lightning-quick reactions Danny knows from before, they've all come together to create something incredible, something Danny finds himself watching more and more often, losing time a little as Steve pulls together strands of intel and hunches to create if not a complete picture, at least most of one that gives them the chance to get one step ahead in the game.

And more than that, Steve listens. While before he would roll over anyone who'd try to get him to do things differently, now he takes it on board, whether he likes it or not. And he _cares_. He cares about his team, about the cases, about the victims and those left behind. Danny wonders whether that last insight is new, or something that goes way back to losing his mother, since Danny never had the chance to find out. Danny's never worked with anyone whose heart is such an open door for everyone to sneak their way in. It's getting to the point where Danny's starting to feel a little concerned about just how much Steve takes things on, things he can't fix, people he can't bring back, a quest for revenge that is in no way over with the death of Victor Hesse.

"You can't save everybody," he says to Steve a few days later on their second case together, because he _can't_ , and Danny worries about it getting to Steve, about Steve feeling let-down and heartbroken. It's not a thought Danny can resign himself to lightly.

Not that Steve listens. Oh, he bears with Danny's rants; Danny even gets the impression he enjoys them, if the smirk in the corner of his mouth is anything to go by. Take them on board? Not so much. It's difficult, this caring for a psycho who makes it his personal mission to not let any more kids lose their parents.

It's two weeks after his transfer to the Governor's task force (they have _got_ to come up with a name for it, this is so lame) when Chin suggests they all go catch the next Kukui Kings game, and Kono and Steve agree enthusiastically.

"I have Grace that day," Danny says, "I get to pick her up after school."

"Great, bring her with," Steve says, and Danny does a double-take at the tone. Surely Steve isn't--

"You don't mind?" Danny asks for form's sake, but Chin and Kono second the invitation immediately, and Danny is left to wonder why Steve should be _nervous_ about meeting Danny's daughter.

Steve refuses to oblige him when Danny tries to catch his eye, so Danny drives home that night with plenty on his mind. Like the fact that Steve obviously wants to meet Grace enough to invite her, but at the same time he's also worried enough that he tries to hide it from Danny.

Grace skips ahead of him when they enter the stadium on the day in question, but obediently waits for Danny to catch up before she starts climbing the tiers.

"Over there," Danny says, pointing out a grinning Kono who's waving at them enthusiastically. Grace goes a little quiet when she reaches the three adults -- she's still a little shy of strangers, but Danny knows it won't last.

"Hey, Gracie, I'm Steve. Your daddy talks about you all the time," Steve says, and it's probably only obvious to Danny that while Steve is visibly thrilled to meet her, there's an uncertainty somewhere underneath that makes Danny's chest tight. It's no secret that Steve isn't really a natural with kids, but the effort he's making, well. Danny has to look away for a moment to catch his breath.

He loses it again the next second.

"He talks a lot about you, too," Grace chirps, innocent like only an eight-year-old can be.

Steve looks stunned for a moment, and then his laugh is a burst of happiness so plain that Danny can't quite meet his eyes when he fibs that they commiserate with each other. He can see Steve isn't buying it without having to look, but he's relaxed, sprawled loosely over the seat, and the tension that had gripped him earlier is gone without a trace. He leans closer when Danny goes to speak, and oh my god, the smell of him, the warmth of his body, almost curled over Danny's from behind, the huff of his breath against Danny's cheek, and Danny cannot make himself move away; it feels so much like the brief time when they were _together_ that all Danny wants to do is lean into Steve, tilt his head back, close his eyes and wait for the kiss he knows is coming.

"I'm Kono," Kono says, smiling at Grace warmly while Danny is still trying to gather himself.

"And I'm Uncle Chin," Chin adds, winking.

"Are you a football player?" Grace asks, delighted.

Danny listens to Steve boast about beating all of Chin's records--and realises a fraction of a second too late that he has maybe talked about Steve a bit too much to Grace when she goes still and her eyes widen. He can only sit back helplessly and watch her turn to Steve properly, and Steve lean over encouragingly.

"Are you Danno's Steve? The one who moved away when Danno used to live here? Danno, you never told me your Steve came back! Now you won't miss him so much!" And god, she looks so thrilled for her dad, how is Danny supposed to bear this _and_ the turmoil inside him?

Danny had always thought those people who sported full body blushes to be some kinds of freaks of nature. Now, though, he thinks he understands, because his whole body feels too big for his skin, like any moment now it's going to crack all around him, and his heart is beating triple-time, and he can't seem to breathe properly. Steve has gone oddly still, like a predator who's caught the scent of his prey, and Danny feels an itch on the back of his neck, a pair of hazel eyes boring into him; he's such a coward but he just can't, _can't_ look back to meet Steve's eyes.

Kono and Chin take great care to appear absorbed in the game, which is how Danny knows they're listening to every word -- they're cops, of course they would be. He appreciates the illusion of privacy, though. He appreciates it even more when Grace pipes up that she's hungry again.

His protest is half-hearted at best, and he feels relief beyond measure when Steve calls out "Hey, get me some," like it's normal, like his daughter didn't just out him as the kind of guy who pines after someone he's only known a few months, even sixteen years later, like it isn't the most pathetic thing Danny can think of.

Grace is oblivious; for all that she's sharp as a tack, her mind is focused on nachos right now, for which Danny is so, so grateful. He lets his mouth run on automatic as his brain tries to process what just happened back there, and how much damage control he is going to have to run to salvage their partnership.

The thugs with guns? Danny could fucking _kiss_ them.

\---

Ten minutes later, he's not feeling nearly as charitable.

"Rachel, calm down. Calm down, it's okay, we're all safe, Grace is safe, an officer is bringing her home now. I'll come see you tonight. I know you're upset, but just--no, just wait," he repeats, trying not to snap at a hysterical Rachel. Fuck, that's just all he needs right now, Rachel freaking out. With his luck, she's going to threaten to take him to court again. Rachel isn't too rational when the safety of her daughter is on the line -- which, okay, Danny can understand; he isn't either. It's the only reason he isn't full-out yelling at her. "Look, I'll come round tonight and explain, okay? I have to go right now, I've two dead men on my hands. Just, please don't do anything rash--"

She hung up on him. He supposes he deserved that. He sighs, pockets his phone and turns round to see Steve watching him carefully from beside Kono.

"Can't wait to meet your ex," Steve says, not unkindly.

Fuck, if they ever do meet, Danny is _doomed_.

"Yeah, the two of you can plan my demise," he says, and is really glad Steve can't read his mind, because the exact nature of his demise at their hands is not something Danny wants to consider too much when there's this many people around and he can't go hide somewhere until it all goes away.

He's never going to get tired of this, though, the way the two of them just _work_ , never mind that one of them is apparently the kind of maniac who lets armed teenagers go once he's confiscated their weapon, and throws informants into shark cages to get them to talk. By the time they're sitting in a goddamned Ferrari (and Danny is damn straight driving that back tonight), watching Steve smirk at him as he speeds them away from the car full of gorgeous ladies, there's this warmth in Danny's belly that he's sure has nothing to do with the way Steve looks in a suit, white shirt open at his throat to showcase the tanned skin disappearing underneath, pants and jacket cut perfectly to make him look tall and loose and lanky and _irresistible_. Danny has to sit on his hands not to _touch_ , not to run his hand over the tempting inner thigh inches away from his, follow it all the way to the bulge Danny knows damn well is there -- that is one fine car, and in different circumstances Danny would tell Steve to pull the hell over, and--

Anyway. Danny shifts uncomfortably, angling his groin away from Steve's eagle eyes. By the way Steve's fingers twitch on the steering wheel, Danny has a feeling he hasn't done too good a job of it. Thankfully, Steve says nothing, but the situation really is unacceptable -- Danny is going to have to talk to him, address this like the huge pink elephant it is before it tramples all of them to death.

Danny should probably lay off the metaphors when he's this wound up.

Steve's quiet "He doesn't know what he's talking about" when Danny complains about the discrepancy of their looks gives Danny hope and makes him cringe at the same time because, oh god, he is being _far_ too obvious, and he needs to stop if he wants to salvage their relationship as it is now. There is a new light in Steve's eyes when he looks at Danny, which sure as hell wasn't there before today -- Danny would have noticed. He puts it aside to think about later, when they're not infiltrating an arms deal about to go down.

He's reminded how screwed he is when kissing Kono does nothing, _nothing_ for him, even when by rights there should at least be a twitch, strolling head-first into danger notwithstanding.

By the time they've wrapped it up, it's far too late to head to Rachel's; freaking them out is the last thing Danny wants. He's not too clear on how they end up at Steve's place, though. They'd dropped off the sleek beauty they'd been driving back at the impound and picked up Danny's Camaro from HQ, and then suddenly Steve's behind the wheel again, and Danny's closing his eyes just for a second...

"Hey, Danno, wake up. We're here."

Danny blinks his eyes open; his mouth follows swiftly. "I don't know where 'here' is, but this definitely isn't my stop, so off you go, and I'll head on home," he says more or less without a single thought entering his head. He's so tired he could sleep in the car if Steve would let him.

"You're not driving anywhere in the state you're in. Go on, get inside."

"Inside where?" Danny slurs, head still tipped back against the headrest -- he's crashing, crashing hard.

"The house, Danno. Come on," and then Steve's opening the passenger door and helping Danny out, bracing him against his side and walking him to the front door.

Danny has about enough coherence to voice a protest, but then Steve is pushing him into the soft brown sofa, and it's so comfortable, god, how is something so old this comfortable, it should be against the rules... and then there's only sleep.

\---

There's something soft and fuzzy covering Danny when he wakes up, eyesight hazy from all the sunshine flooding the room and trying to gouge his sore eyes out. He rubs at his face as he sits up, blanket falling to bunch around his waist. He's barefoot, shoes aligned neatly with the edge of the couch, which proves that he didn't take them off himself or they'd be lying somewhere where he's bound to trip over them first thing.

Steve's soft voice rumbles from the kitchen as Danny staggers to the downstairs bathroom, taking care of business and splashing his face with cold water. His teeth feel furry, but there's no toothpaste to be found anywhere, so he supposes he'll just have to not breathe on Steve until he's at least had coffee.

He pads into the kitchen, which is when he realises that while Steve is on the phone, it's not _his_ phone he's on.

"Who the hell are you talking to on my phone?" Danny demands, trying to grab it from Steve's hand. Steve is _far_ too nimble on his feet this early on; come to think of it, his hair is wet and curling at the back, so Danny concludes he's already swum round the island or whatever it is Steve does while normal people are on their fourth dream.

Danny went and fell for the only early riser on the whole damned island chain. Go figure.

"Steve, hand the phone over. _Right now_ , if you know what's good for you."

Steve waits a beat, listening to whoever is on the other side before huffing a laugh and relinquishing the phone with a grin that promises nothing good.

Danny looks at the display and groans.

"I heard that," Rachel says when he brings the phone to his ear. "Wasn't very nice, was it, Daniel."

"Sorry," Danny says automatically before frowning. "Wait, no, I'm not sorry. You hung up on me yesterday!"

Rachel sounds terribly amused when she asks, "Just woken up, then?"

"Yeah, five minutes ago." His naturally suspicious nature rears its head shortly after. "What are you doing, talking to Steve?"

"Oh, we were discussing a minor matter concerning yesterday's events. Don't worry, I've got over it. I'm rather used to that, if you'll recall."

"So no lawyers?"

"Not as such, no. But you'll be expected to do something extremely nice to make it up to her this weekend."

Danny pauses for a beat. Steve is pointedly Not Listening; he has his head stuck in the fridge, like he's counting his eggs or whatever demented practice he has this early in the morning.

"I have Grace this weekend?" he checks, because last he remembers, yesterday's father-daughter bonding experience was meant to make up for not getting Grace for the rest of the month.

"Stan has had to leave on urgent business, and I couldn't take the time off work. So yes, I would be very much obliged if you could take her this weekend. I'm meant to be in Maui to meet an investor."

"Right, okay, yes, of course," Danny says, watching Steve assemble a very complicated cup of coffee involving a strange object with a long plunger that Danny eyes askance. "I'll pick her up on Saturday?"

"Eight o'clock at the latest, I'm afraid," Rachel says apologetically, but it's not like Danny has any desire whatsoever to grumble.

He ends the call and watches Steve for a moment as he wrestles with the bizarre contraption. There are so many things he could say; 'what the hell were you thinking, calling my ex-wife'; 'who gave you the right to run my life for me, asshole'; 'where do you get off making me feel this way about you again, you fucking bastard'. In the end, though, he knows it won't change anything. It's too late to back out now; it's been too late from the moment he set eyes on Steve again. As far as Danny's heart is concerned, Danny's been spoken for, for a long, long time now. So he might as well start as he means to go on.

"Okay, I have to ask. What in the _hell_ are you doing to that poor coffee? You know torture's no help when you want results."

Steve stops struggling with the thing and looks at Danny over his shoulder, eyes guarded. "Coffee machine broke on Tuesday. Meant to get it fixed, but we've been kind of busy if you remember. This is my mom's old French press, only there must be something _wrong_ with it, because it won't _fit_ \--"

Danny takes mercy on both the coffee and Steve, walks over and tugs it out of his hands. "Okay, step away from the counter, Superman. I'll go get us some coffee from some place that doesn't need to wrangle theirs."

"No," Steve says, far too quickly, gaze darting away from Danny's as Danny stares at him. "No, Danny, I'll go. You're in my house, the least I could do is get you a nice coffee to start the morning."

With that non-sequitur Steve swipes the keys to the Camaro that he must have fished out of Danny's pockets last night (and isn't that an interesting observation) and is out of the door before Danny can so much as open his mouth, which is a hell of an achievement.

"Okay, _what_ ," Danny asks the empty house, listening to the Camaro's engine growl to life.

Oh well. He might as well go take a shower while he waits, because he feels utterly filthy and sorely in need of soap. Steve won't mind. He trudges upstairs, taking off shirt, tie that had been half-loosened already (probably Steve's doing), pants, dropping them in a heap on the bathroom floor. Only when he's dripping wet and using Steve's towel to dry off does it occur to him that a) he's using _his partner's towel_ without a second thought, it still smells like Steve's hair, and do _not_ ask Danny how he knows that; and b) he has nothing clean to put on.

Perhaps he should have thought this through better before just saying 'fuck it'.

He ambles into Steve's bedroom, and Jesus, he's about to go through his partner's stuff, this could be seen as just a little _too_ invasive. But the alternative is waiting for Steve wrapped in Steve's own towel, and Danny's not sure he can handle that, not with the way Steve has been making himself at home under Danny's skin. Not that Steve won't find out about the towel; he'll figure it out in two seconds flat, but Danny won't be _in_ it when he does.

He eases open one wing of the wardrobe and sighs in relief -- jackpot. Row after row of clean T-shirts present themselves to Danny's attention, all in various shades of green, grey and blue. He reaches for the one on top of the stack--and freezes.

The shade is lighter than he remembers, made all the more unrecognisable by the way it peeks from between piles of clothing, like it's winking at Danny, the brightest blue in the closet. Danny tugs it out carefully, noting that it might be much-washed, but it's barely stretched. It would probably fit him perfectly now. He stares at it as pieces of the puzzle start rearranging themselves in his head, all of them pointing to Steve not faring much better than Danny when it comes to being hung up on a certain someone from his past.

A strangled sound reaches him from the doorway and Danny whips around to come face to startled face with Steve, bearing two take-away cups of coffee and staring at Danny, the towel, the sweater, _everywhere_ at once.

"I--" Danny starts, but has to cut himself off so he can concentrate on clamping both hands over the towel that's making a bid for freedom. "I was going to borrow some clothes. I took a shower," he finishes lamely, but Steve seems focused not so much on Danny's words as on Danny's--other things.

The silence stretches, neither making any move to break it. Danny can hear the click of Steve's throat as he swallows dryly, eyes fixed somewhere below Danny's face. Danny makes an aborted motion with the hand holding the sweater.

"You kept it," he says quietly.

Steve looks torn between denial and feigning nonchalance, but in the end he just nods.

"Yeah," he croaks and has to stop to clear his throat. "Yeah, I kept it, Danno. It was the only thing of yours I had."

Steve looks away at last, places the coffees on top of a chest of drawers and tugs out the one in the middle. He lays a pair of sweatpants on the bed, darts Danny a look. "You'll want it back, of course, I remember you saying. Uh, about your mom. So yeah. I'll just be downstairs when you're done--"

Danny drops the sweater and the towel at the same time. Steve's words dry up as Danny stalks forward, stops a scant inch before their bodies touch.

"Tell me. Tell me I've read this wrong; tell me to back off and I will," Danny says , lips so close to the line of Steve's jaw they're almost brushing against the stubble Steve hasn't bothered to shave.

Steve lets out a broken sound and surges forward, mashes his lips against Danny's, threads one hand through Danny's damp hair, fastens the other on Danny's hip and _tugs_ , plasters Danny's chest to his, presses them together until Danny can feel every breath, every twitch of Steve's muscles against his stomach, every whimper as it leaves Steve's mouth and travels into his. He grabs hold of Steve's T-shirt, clutches at it like Steve might disappear if he lets go, feels the twist of muscle under his palms. Every inhale is Steve's scent, every push forward is the unyielding wall of Steve's body, every twist of his fingers brings him closer to the warmth of Steve's skin under his T-shirt.

Danny can't get enough. He tugs at the fabric frantically, and Steve shucks it like water, only letting go of Danny for the fraction of a second it takes him to whip it over his head and throw it away. Danny's fingers slip in the sweat gathered at the small of Steve's back, trying to gain purchase so he can push Steve's sweatpants away, but god, it's just _not happening_ , _damn_ them -- and then he's falling, landing with a grunt across Steve's bed while Steve hooks his thumbs in the waistband and pushes them off his hips, leaving them to pool at his feet as he licks his lips and _stares_. Danny would feel self-conscious if it wasn't blindingly obvious just how much Steve wants him, just how much he can't wait.

Steve climbs on top of him, and it's clumsy, Steve's habitual grace gone into hiding, all raw need and desperation. Steve falls over him, presses him into the bed with his weight and Danny is in _heaven_ , or he would be if Steve would just fucking _move_.

"Danny, please, I need--I need--" There are kisses pressing into every inch of Danny's skin, and Danny can barely catch his breath to reply.

"Yeah, yeah, babe, okay, yes, just--slow down a second--"

"I can't, Danny, I _can't_ \--"

"Okay, okay, fuck, where do you keep--"

"The drawer on your left, _please_ \--"

"Jesus Christ, Steve, you're going to have to stop doing that if you want me to-- _wait_ , no, fuck, forget I said that, hey, come back here--"

"Got them, just--"

Danny has had enough. He uses Steve's uncharacteristic spatial confusion to flip them over; Steve yelps but goes, his hands never leaving Danny's body, keeping him spread astride over Steve's lap, cocks brushing together with every twitch of their hips.

Neither of them is going to last long; they are both too wound up, and Danny doesn't know about Steve but he knows that _he_ is going to blow his top with no regards for reciprocity pretty damn soon, so if Steve wants to--" _fuck_ , yes, _there_ " --uh, where was he?

Oh yes.

Steve groans long and hoarse when Danny arches his back and sinks two lubed fingers inside himself, too desperate for any kind of finesse. He's done it before; he'll be sore as fuck tomor--later today, but he can take Steve in with minimum stretch, provided there's plenty of lube and he's _this turned on_ , oh god, he isn't going to be able to hold it, not with Steve looking at him like that, blown pupils and bitten lips and lowered lashes throwing shadows over his cheekbones, slick tongue leaving his mouth wet and shiny, _perfect_ , Danny wants his cock slipping through those lips, wants to watch himself fill Steve's mouth over and over and over again, and that is _really_ not helping his self-control.

He twists three fingers inside himself, and almost loses his balance when he grinds a knuckle against his prostate without meaning to. Steve lets out a small sound of supplication, one hand following Danny's arm until he's working a fourth finger inside, and fuck, it's too much too soon and it _hurts_ , but Danny never wants it to stop.

"Enough," he growls, pulling out and lining up Steve's cock with the hand that's still dripping with lube, giving him a quick stroke to spread whatever's left down Steve's length until it's shiny and slippery and looking gorgeous.

"Wait," Steve yelps hoarsely, struggling with the condom wrapper; it's proving a fucking arousal dampener, the way it twists through his slick fingers.

"Jesus," Danny swears, wipes his fingers on the sheet and tears the thing open, spreading it over Steve's cock as Steve squeezes a too-large dollop of lube over the head, but Danny doesn't give a fuck because finally he's sinking over Steve, taking him in inch by inch, twisting his hips and forcing himself open around him. Steve's eyes are squeezed shut and his chest is slick with sweat and his hands are slipping on Danny's hips and he's gritting his teeth so tightly a muscle is jumping in his jaw and Danny has never wanted another human being more than in this moment.

Finally he's sitting in Steve's lap, all of him inside, and he gives himself a second because a) fuck, it's been a long time since he's had someone so fucking thick inside him, _god_ , the _stretch_ , and b) he's going to come in two and a half seconds if he doesn't.

Steve is making helpless little motions with his hips, and Danny can see the strain in takes for Steve to stop himself from thrusting inside Danny until Danny gives him the okay. Which he does, and after that it gets a little blurry. Steve is so hot inside him, giving, alive, and the body writhing under him is the stuff that dreams are made of. It's frantic, and fast, and just this side of too much, and fuck, his leg is trying to cramp under him from keeping him in place through Steve's thrusts, and yet...

Danny loses time, seconds stretching way into the distance as Steve twists and presses and tugs Danny closer. He watches Steve's eyes rolling into the back of his head, teeth bared in a snarl of 'yes, _now_ '; watches as if from a distance as his own hand wraps around his cock and twists, watches Steve watch his cock slide in and out of the circle of his fist, and then there's another hand closing around it, fingers different from his own rubbing over the head as it peeks from between Danny's fingers. His breath leaves him on a sob as he watches Steve lift his forefinger to that mouth of his, suck the drop of precome hanging off the tip between his lips as he twists his other hand over Danny's on his cock, and--

He comes to sprawled face-down onto the mattress with Steve's heaving body next to him, hears the ragged exhales Steve's lungs push out desperately, the sucking inhales, the little unconscious noises of coming down, and realises at least half of them are his.

He tries to speak, but nothing more than a hum manifests itself from his mouth, a 'nnngh' that's long and languid and so self-satisfied his lips curl in a grin of their own volition.

"Yeah," Steve manages, and suddenly there's a hand over Danny's ass, rubbing a thumb against the sweat-slick skin fondly. "Yeah, Danny."

Steve's voice is wrecked, deep, rasping. Danny wants to hear it just like this at least once every single day for the rest of his life.

He shuffles his limp muscles until he's managed to throw a leg between Steve's and an arm over his chest. Steve sighs contentedly and there's a hand on Danny's arm, following the length of it until it finds Danny's and hooks their little fingers together, a single long finger stroking over the back of Danny's hand. Danny hides his smile in Steve's shoulder.

He's almost asleep when Steve takes a deep breath and says, "You should move in with me," fast like he needs to get it out before Danny cuts him off.

"What, _now_?" Danny manages, trying and failing to lift his head. He nestles it more comfortably instead.

"Danny, I've waited for you for sixteen years. I think our courtship is _done_ , don't you?"

"How can you even think right now?" Danny grumbles, but the idea is not even remotely unpleasant. In fact, it has considerable merit. Like not having to ever move after something like _this_.

Steve huffs a laugh; it ruffles the small hairs by his ear, and Danny rubs his nose against Steve's skin in complaint.

"Yes or no, Danny?"

"Jesus, give a guy a second," Danny groans. The stroking over his hand, which had paused when Steve spoke, resumes its lazy path. It's a suitable reflection of Steve's unnatural patience when it comes to getting things his way.

He's almost asleep _again_ when Steve starts running his free hand over his spine, long, slow trails of his fingers that makes something tighten in Danny's stomach even after everything.

"You are a menace," Danny complains, and feels the tightening of Steve's chest as another amused huff makes its way out. The fingers, he notices, never pause. He sighs in defeat. "Fine. Okay. If I say yes, will you desist?"

"Not on your life, Danny," Steve says, and rolls them over.

"For the record," Danny says when Steve starts sucking a trail of kisses down his throat, "you can keep the shirt."

Steve stills on top of him, raises his head to look at Danny, a goofy look brightening his face. "Really?" he says, and god, that look in his eyes, it should not be doing these kinds of things to Danny.

But, he supposes, it's part of taking the plunge, making a home somewhere, with someone who has been a part of his life for so long; of finally admitting that even after all those years, this is the only place Danny ever wants to be: on this island, with this goof, his daughter not five miles away.

"Yeah," he says at last, linking his fingers to Steve's and pulling his hand up to brush a kiss against his knuckles, sappiness be damned. "One less thing to move."

\-----


End file.
